Naruto vs Neji

The early morning sun rose over Konohagakure on the final day of the Chūnin Exams, casting elongated shadows across the village's winding streets. A palpable energy hummed through every district, fueled by an influx of visitors from far beyond the Fire Country's borders. Acclaimed noblemen, influential daimyō, wealthy merchants, and famed shinobi of various ranks converged here, all eager to witness the culminating matches that would determine the new crop of elite ninja. The spectacle was set to begin in the grand stadium, an imposing structure of stone and metal that rose above the surrounding rooftops.

Petty vendors hurried to set up colorful stalls selling refreshments and souvenirs, while uniformed chūnin patrolled the main roads, ensuring the massive crowds were ushered politely toward the arena gates. Civilians jostled with foreign dignitaries, forging an unlikely mix of commoners and aristocrats. Everywhere, a wave of chatter filled the air—speculation on the finalists' odds, whispered rumors of hidden talents, wagers placed on certain stand-out competitors. This tournament was more than a local event: it was a display of power that might shift alliances and political dynamics across the continent.

From dawn onward, the regal carriage of the Fire Daimyō had rolled up to the stadium's main entrance, flanked by armored samurai who solemnly guided him and his party inside. After some formalities in the VIP hallway, the daimyō ascended to the stands reserved for the most prestigious visitors. Similar processions played out for influential lords from smaller territories under Fire Country's umbrella, though the absence of certain representatives hinted at some unspoken tensions. Nevertheless, the stands brimmed with anticipation. Thousands of onlookers, both local and foreign, took their seats in high-arching rows.

In the elevated box seats stood a place of honor for the Hokage, a vantage that overlooked the entire arena. One layer below him, an expanse of seats was reserved for wealthy aristocrats, clan leaders, and visiting delegates. Presently, the Third Hokage was seated comfortably in that designated area, robes meticulously arranged, though one could sense the hint of worry etched around his eyes. He peered down upon the throngs with a thoughtful expression, staff resting by his side. Near him stood the ever-vigilant Namiashi Raidō, one of the Hokage's personal guard, fully attuned to any sign of danger.

"Any reports on Sayuri Uchiha's whereabouts?" asked the Hokage in a hushed tone. His mild voice barely cut through the surrounding bustle, but Raidō caught every word. Ever since the conclusion of the preliminaries, Konoha's intelligence had turned up nothing new on the missing Uchiha. It was widely known that she had not been sighted within the village for days, raising concern she might have fallen into dark clutches.

Raidō inclined his head slightly. "I'm afraid not, Hokage-sama. We deployed several ANBU squads to locate Sayuri and the jōnin who was last seen training her, but neither sensei nor student appear anywhere in the village or the usual training grounds. Our leads suggest they've gone beyond the borders or slipped into unknown territory. The likelihood of Orochimaru's involvement is high."

"If that's so," murmured the Hokage, his voice carrying the weight of experience, "then retrieving her would be nearly impossible. He's cunning enough to hide his trail from even our best trackers." Anxiety flickered across Sarutobi's features. He knew the threat of Orochimaru stretched well beyond a single missing kunoichi, especially if the rogue shinobi aimed to exploit the Uchiha heir's potential.

Raidō cleared his throat softly, mindful of the surrounding audience. He leaned in closer. "There's another issue. Naruto has yet to arrive at the stadium with the other finalists. He was expected to appear at the competitor's gathering point a short while ago. Multiple watchers posted at the gates reported no sign of him either." The guard paused, shifting uncomfortably. "It's possible Orochimaru seized him, too."

At this suggestion, Sarutobi's features tightened momentarily. "No. I saw Naruto in person just yesterday. He had no reason to vanish so abruptly. Besides, I doubt either Jiraiya or anyone allied to Naruto would allow him to be spirited away without raising alarm. He is too well-guarded by certain unspoken safeguards." The Hokage took a measured breath, then exhaled. "As to why he hasn't shown up, we can only guess. But something tells me Naruto is safe."

Raidō nodded, deferring to the Hokage's judgment. "If you say so, Hokage-sama." This conversation ended as Sarutobi shifted his gaze to the arena where the first matches would soon begin.

Moments later, an attendant informed the Hokage that an arrival from Sunagakure had entered the box seats. Indeed, the Kazekage, draped in the official robes of his office and wearing a mask that obscured much of his face, had come to watch the finals. He advanced with measured steps, escorted by a pair of tall men in muted tan cloaks. The Kazekage's presence was expected—protocol demanded that the major villages, especially those whose genin participated in the exams, send their senior representatives. Having been on cordial terms with Konoha recently, Suna's leader took the seat on the Hokage's left, bowing courteously in greeting.

"Greetings, Kazekage-sama," the Hokage said warmly, standing to bow in turn. "I trust your journey here was uneventful."

"It was," the Kazekage replied, voice calm yet shadowed by the mask. "I appreciate your courtesy in hosting these exams, Hokage-sama. This is a fine opportunity to observe promising candidates."

Sarutobi nodded, mindful of the underlying tensions that always permeated these events. "I'm pleased to see such representation from Suna, especially during a time that demands cooperation for our alliances." Beneath his measured politeness, the Hokage weighed his knowledge that Suna might be maneuvering clandestinely with Orochimaru's faction. But outwardly, the old man exuded only pleasant welcome.

As the two Kages took their respective seats, various nobility and clan heads continued filling in around them. The Hokage's guard, Raidō, maintained vigil behind Sarutobi's chair, scanning the stands for suspicious movements. In the crowd below, the volume of chatter crescendoed. Only a few seats remained unfilled among the mass of spectators.

Below them, the arena's wide, dusty floor sprawled open. Fifteen designated finalists—some from Konoha, others from Sunagakure, and certain individuals from less prominent villages—were meant to gather near the center, waiting for the referee to call matches. Yet a few notable participants were absent. Concern spread through the audience. Leaning forward, the Kazekage's masked eyes roamed across the line of standing genin, but did not spot either Naruto or Sayuri.

The Kazekage's voice carried quietly to the Hokage: "It appears two significant participants from your village are missing. Any news of them, Hokage-sama?"

Sarutobi offered a faint, rueful smile. "As you've observed, we currently have no confirmation. My watchers have turned up no immediate trace. Nevertheless, I suspect they will appear." He left unspoken the worries swirling in his mind about Orochimaru's machinations.

Several rows below, the stadium's general seating areas seethed with speculation. In one lively section, a group of Konoha teenagers and their jōnin sensei were in heated conversation about the missing finalists. Shikamaru, leaning back with a trademark bored expression, exhaled. "Typical. Naruto loves that big entrance. Maybe he's stalling on purpose to show up at the last second. Troublesome."

"Not to mention where is Sayuri?" commented Ino, arms crossed. "We haven't seen her for weeks. She's never been the type to vanish so totally."

Farther up in the stands, a small crowd of Academy students muttered anxiously. Konohamaru, sporting a determined look, mumbled, "Come on, Naruto-nii, where are you?" Next to him sat Moegi and Udon, equally perplexed. "He wouldn't skip this," Moegi said firmly. "He said he'd never back down." Udon tentatively echoed her sentiment, though he pointed out that even unstoppable people could run into unforeseen trouble. Konohamaru clenched his fists and insisted Naruto would show.

Below, tension mounted in the designated competitor's area. The jōnin assigned as the finals proctor for this tournament was Shiranui Genma, a calm figure with a senbon needle perched at the corner of his mouth. He'd replaced a previous proctor who had been found dead under suspicious circumstances. Now, Genma faced the line of assembled genin who had made it through preliminaries—save for the few missing.

Addressing the crowd of finalists in a composed voice, Genma said, "We can't delay the entire event for those who haven't arrived. Each match will proceed in order. If your name is called and you're not here, you lose by default. This is how we maintain fairness for all participants." He turned his gaze pointedly to a certain Hyūga who stood near the center. "Accordingly, we should proceed with the first match. Hyūga Neji—since your opponent is not present, we will declare you the winner unless—"

Before he could finish, an abrupt swirl of wind and leaves erupted in the arena's center, forcing some watchers to shield their eyes from flying dust. As the leaves settled, a single figure materialized: Naruto, clad in a sleek black tracksuit, the Uzumaki swirl insignia stitched boldly on the back and shoulders. He wore a short-sleeved top beneath, black pants, a pair of sturdy sandals, and a new headband with a dark cloth. A subtle swirl of dissipating chakra indicated he had arrived via a technique akin to the Body Flicker or something more unusual. He stood confidently, one hand resting lightly at his side, scanning the stadium with a faint grin.

Seeing him, an immediate ripple of sound spread through the crowd. From the stands, multiple voices piped up:

"He's here!"

"About time!"

Konohamaru leaped up, fists pumping, exclaiming, "I told you he'd show!" Some older spectators murmured in relief or curiosity—what had delayed him?

Down in the arena, Genma exhaled. "You cut it close," he remarked in a dry tone, adjusting the senbon in his mouth. "I was a second away from disqualifying you."

Naruto offered an unapologetic shrug, eyes flicking around. "Sorry. Had a minor snag, but I'm here now. Not planning to miss the chance to fight." He turned to glance at Hyūga Neji, who studied him with an aloof expression. Tension crackled between them.

From the stands, Ino let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Shikamaru gave a half-smile, muttering, "So typical, showing off at the last possible moment… but at least he's here."

Neji arched a brow, unimpressed. "So you decided to come after all," he said icily, voice carrying. "I expected otherwise. Then again, you love big spectacles."

Naruto returned the glare without missing a beat. "And you love pontificating about fate, right? Let's see if fate can save you when I actually fight back." His casual tone belied the seriousness in his eyes.

In the Kage box, the Hokage, seated next to the Kazekage, concealed a faint smile behind folded hands. He felt a certain relief that Naruto showed up in time. The Kazekage, for his part, observed the interplay with sharp interest. Neither commented openly, but the tension in the air had shifted.

Genma cleared his throat. "Now that both finalists for the first match are present, we can officially begin the final stage. But let's confirm something: Uchiha…" He paused, as if about to say a name, then realized the correction: "Rather, we have no official sign of the other missing competitor, so we proceed with what we have." His tone was unwavering. "Everyone else, please move back to the stands or the waiting box for finalists. This match is between Hyūga Neji and Naruto."

As per the procedures, the other genin who had gathered parted ways, heading to the designated waiting area, leaving Naruto and Neji alone in the dusty arena center. High above them, the crowd leaned forward expectantly, thousands of eyes locked on these two. The mild breeze swept bits of sand across their feet, a subtle omen of conflict. Around them, the stadium's acoustics magnified even small sounds, so the hush seemed almost deafening.

Naruto exhaled once, turning slightly to get a sense of the ring. He re-checked the Uzumaki symbols on his shoulders and back, reaffirming his identity. The black tracksuit, a new addition, felt snug but comfortable. He wore no vest or coat now—just the tracksuit signifying his readiness for swift, agile combat. Meanwhile, Neji stood with the poise of the Hyūga Clan's prized genius, arms crossing lightly, his pale eyes calm yet fierce.

From high in the stands, certain individuals took a sharper interest. For instance, a handful of Hyūga elders. The clan head might be among them, measuring every subtle shift in Neji's stance. Others who'd bet heavily on either Naruto or Neji also watched with a combination of excitement and dread, hoping they'd chosen wisely.

In another corner of the stands, a dark shape lurked under an ANBU mask, quietly analyzing the contestants. Kabuto—disguised as ANBU—sifted through mental notes about Naruto's abilities, gleaned from clandestine observations. "At last, a fresh data point," he whispered to himself, anticipating new insights for a bigger plan.

Back in the center ring, Genma lifted an arm to silence the crowd's murmurs. "Listen carefully," he announced. "This is the first official match of the finals: Hyūga Neji against Naruto. Standard rules: if one competitor is incapacitated, killed, or surrenders, the other wins. Interference from outside parties is strictly forbidden. Fight only within the designated boundary."

Neji, standing a short distance away, regarded Naruto with a mix of annoyance and faint amusement. "I must say, I was beginning to suspect you had decided to keep shining shoes instead of showing up," he commented, loud enough that the audience in the front rows heard. "Is business slow in that alley you used to frequent, shoe shiner?"

Naruto's cheek twitched almost imperceptibly. He tried not to reveal how vexed he was by that jab. His past as a shoe shiner under a henge was something Neji had discovered—and used as a frequent taunt. "You talk a lot for someone who's about to lose," Naruto retorted, forcing a smirk. "But I don't run from the likes of you. Didn't I warn you at the preliminaries that I'd put you in your place when we met again?"

Neji's memory flashed to that earlier confrontation. He recalled the fierce glint in Naruto's eyes that day, the vow to crush him. He frowned. Part of him also remembered how Naruto had discovered certain secrets about the Byakugan's blind spot, but he tried to appear unconcerned. "Such boasting," Neji said. "Do you realize how pathetic it sounds from the lips of a—what was that phrase again? A cunning little shoe polisher?"

Naruto's nostrils flared, though he kept his expression calm. Inside his mind, he felt a gentle stirring: the voices of his Otsutsuki parents, their imprints resonating quietly. He heard them as he often did in times of stress—Ichiro's even tone and Hikari's comforting timbre.

"Stay composed, Naruto," Ichiro's voice echoed in his thoughts, paternal and firm. "You must not let petty provocations cloud your reason."

Hikari's gentler voice followed, "You are an Otsutsuki, my child, with the Byakugan and more. Remember that you've studied the Byakugan's secrets. Neji thinks only the Hyūga know its intricacies. Use that advantage well but reveal it only if necessary."

Naruto mentally exhaled. "I won't be rattled. I appreciate your counsel, Father, Mother," he responded within his mind. Then, outwardly, he locked eyes with Neji. "I'm not the type to hide from a challenge." He rolled his shoulders, cracking his knuckles. "I warned you, I always keep my word."

Neji's eyes flicked to the center of the ring, noticing that Naruto's posture signaled readiness for close combat. "Interesting," he said. "Here I thought you might brandish some fancy weapon. Or is that black tracksuit meant to distract us from your old rag you used for kneeling at people's feet, shining their shoes? Or maybe you prefer to fight fairly?"

Naruto forced a small laugh, though inside he was annoyed. The shoe shiner taunts had peppered their encounters for an entire month. "As if you deserve any fairness," he scoffed. "I do acknowledge you're no pushover, but that's all." He raised an arm in a half-guard stance. "Lee once told me about your formidable style, but guess what? I'm not impressed."

Neji's brow creased. "You speak of fairness, but we both know you're overshadowed by your ancestry in certain ways." He let his voice drop. "That destiny you so eagerly deny is the same one that grants you privileges—like advanced training from various jōnin, or Konoha's special favoritism. And yet for all that, you used to kneel in the streets, shining people's shoes for coins. Don't you see how fate has a sense of humor?"

The memory of that disguised figure, "Hiro the shoe shiner," rose in Naruto's mind, though he tried to keep his face impassive. He recalled those nights polishing footwear in some back alley to earn enough to live, wearing a henge so villagers wouldn't recognize him. The knowledge that Neji had spied that scene burned him. But Naruto said nothing about it. Instead, he squared his jaw. "I told you before: I make my own path. And that path leads right to beating you."

Neji said nothing, but the sneer on his lips spoke volumes. The proctor, stepping between them, drew attention. "All right, both of you," he declared in a clear tone. "Since it seems you're both present and ready, I'll officially start the first match. No lethal force is permitted if it can be avoided, but we all know accidents happen in combat. Keep your wits about you."

That momentary hush expanded. The crowd quieted once more, waiting for the match to commence. Neji sank into a familiar stance, arms raised in the Gentle Fist style, pale eyes alert. Naruto parted his legs, adopting a balanced posture that could shift from offense to defense with fluid grace. The ring felt too small, an arena that hardly contained their tension. Above them, an overcast sky gave the day a subdued brightness. A mild breeze snaked through the seats, ruffling hair and clothing.

"Begin!" shouted the proctor, stepping back quickly.

They did not charge in immediately. For several heartbeats, Naruto and Neji measured each other from a distance of ten meters. Their gazes locked, each searching for the other's weakness. For an instant, the entire stadium seemed to hold its breath, as if the world paused on the threshold of violence.

Neji made the first taunt. "You said at the preliminaries you'd pound me into dust. But so far, all you do is talk. Perhaps you should stick to shining my sandals?"

Naruto bristled internally, but he forced a casual shrug. "Maybe you should hush, because I've got plenty of ways to shut that mouth of yours. The question is which one to use first."

Within his mind, he heard Ichiro's calm caution: "Do not let your anger cloud your advantage. Neji's boasting is meant to provoke you."

Naruto inhaled quietly, letting that guidance root him. "I know, Father," he thought, "but I have to show him not to push me. Don't worry, I'll be measured." Then he exhaled, feeling his center steady.

Neji's Byakugan flared to life with a subtle intensification of the veins around his eyes. At the same moment, Naruto recognized that if he tapped into his Otsutsuki Byakugan, he'd risk revealing too much. Instead, he would rely on conventional senses for now. He had an advantage: He intimately understood the Byakugan's blind spots from personal knowledge gleaned from clan scrolls his Otsutsuki ancestors had left him. Thanks to his internal father and mother's hints, Naruto grasped that the Hyūga took great pains to hide those vulnerabilities, but no secret was safe from him.

"Not going to draw a weapon?" Neji asked, shifting stance. "Or do you plan to amuse me with your empty fists, just like your empty claims about outrunning your past as a shoe polisher?"

Naruto faked a faint smile. "You want me to use a sword? Hah, not for the likes of you. My fists will suffice. Only a coward needs to mock someone's old job. Sorry to disappoint you, but I take pride that I overcame that time—without giving up." Then, his expression hardened. "Now, I'll show you how far I've come."

With that final remark, Naruto formed a single seal. "Shadow Clone Technique!" he declared. In an abrupt swirl, eight identical clones sprang to life around him, each in the same black tracksuit with the Uzumaki swirl. They scattered swiftly, encircling Neji from multiple angles.

Up in the stands, a mild ripple of commentary broke out among onlookers. Some recognized this advanced clone technique. It was rumored Naruto had used it to great effect in earlier tests. The proctor observed with a measured nod, while the Hokage from above watched with mild interest. The Kazekage's masked face pointed in their direction, revealing little outward reaction, though a glint in his eye suggested curiosity.

Neji, glancing around at the clones, maintained his calm. "Shadow Clones?" he said in a measured tone. "You think illusions or replication will help you? My Byakugan can see the distribution of chakra. I can pick out the real one easily. In the end, it's a pointless trick—like all your grand illusions about forging your destiny."

Naruto's voice emanated from every clone at once, echoing strangely. "Oh, I'm not using illusions. These are shadow clones—solid and real, each able to fight. Maybe you'd best watch your back." With that, four of the clones darted in from four cardinal directions, fists raised. Neji watched them approach, rotating on the balls of his feet. His eyes flicked from one to another, and in fluid movements, he deflected each blow with precise palm strikes. The clones that closed in from the east and west he parried and flung aside, while the two from the north and south he sent stumbling back with direct hits to their torsos.

All four clones crashed to the ground and vanished in puffs of smoke. Another four emerged from behind a cracked boulder, shuriken in hand, launching them in arcs that forced Neji to twist away. The steel whizzed by, some clattering off the arena floor, others lodging in the ground. Neji's reflexes guided him skillfully, but one stray shuriken nicked the cloth at his elbow. He frowned, discovering that Naruto's aim was better than rumored.

"Not bad," Neji muttered, forcibly steadying his breath. "But you're still missing me with those pathetic attempts." He launched himself forward, weaving between the newly formed clones, delivering quick palm thrusts that dissolved each clone into harmless puffs of chakra-laced smoke. "You can produce a horde of them, but it changes nothing. A stray donkey can neigh all it wants—it can't become a stallion. Your fate remains a shoe shiner, destined to kneel and serve."

Naruto's jaw tightened. "Keep talking." Inwardly, the words stung, but he clung to his mother Hikari's gentle mental encouragement: "He's taunting you to break your composure. Let him. You are stronger."

He breathed out, letting a moment pass. Then, with a slight wave of his hand, he formed two more clones that rushed Neji's flank. As they engaged, Naruto hung back, analyzing. He'd studied the Byakugan's blind spot meticulously. He'd tested aspects of it in the preliminaries. If he could confirm an opening in Neji's defenses, he might slip in a decisive blow. The trouble lay in the Byakugan's near-360-degree vision—Neji could see almost everything around him. Almost everything.

Neji's next moves came in a flash. Twisting sideways, he deflected one clone's overhead punch, slammed his palm into the clone's midsection, and spun to knock the second clone's leg aside. Both clones vanished in smoke. He pivoted, scanning the ring for Naruto. "I can sense your real self among the illusions. That trick won't save you forever." He leveled his eyes at a figure stepping out from behind a large chunk of masonry. "You're not a donkey; you're just a misguided child still clinging to illusions of forging your own path."

Naruto resumed the single seal, forming another squad of four clones, each brandishing short kunai. "Is that so? Then let's see how you handle a donkey's hoof," he shot back ironically. The clones bounded in, weaving left and right, brandishing steel.

Neji evaded or parried each blow with minimal movements, palm-lashing to destroy them. The final clone attempted a leaping slash from above. Neji hopped backward. The blade missed by inches, and in a fluid follow-up, Neji's hand jabbed the clone's side. It imploded in smoke. Neji faced Naruto across the ring, unscathed.

A mild exhalation of frustration parted Naruto's lips. "He's good," he admitted softly. "But he's not unstoppable." Inside his mind, Ichiro's paternal voice reminded him, "You've discovered the blind spot. Exploit it. Don't rely purely on clones. Mix illusions of approach with a feint from below or above."

Yes, Naruto thought. Attack from below, from the ground, or from overhead. The Byakugan had a slight gap that even advanced clan members sometimes guarded poorly. "I just have to time it right," he muttered, placing a hand on the ground. "Shadow Clone… plus infiltration."

He created a swirl of smoke—eight new clones fanned out, circling Neji, distracting him with a barrage of short-range weapon throws. Shuriken soared in a wide arc, forcing Neji to spin, deflect, or dodge. The Hyūga's eyes flicked from angle to angle, tracking the starry projectiles. He managed to avoid them with remarkable skill, but his attention was momentarily scattered. In that heartbeat, Naruto performed a subtle sign. The real Naruto sank into the ground, employing a silent infiltration technique he had gleaned from reading an older scroll about Earth Release basics. Meanwhile, one clone stepped forward, trying to look especially menacing.

"That worthless shoe shiner approach again, is it?" Neji commented, knocking aside a volley of thrown needles from the side. "Your illusions and vanishings can't hide you, Naruto. I see through them." He scanned, expecting to sense Naruto's chakra or spot him among the clones. But he noted no sign of the real Naruto on the surface, leaving only the clones standing in a semi-circle, each about ten meters away. "If you're hoping to reappear behind me," he said, "I'll warn you I have no blind spots."

At that remark, one of the clones laughed. "Is that so? I recall that you had trouble last time." The clones simultaneously advanced. One flung a shuriken that soared wide left. Another pretended to charge, only to skid to a stop. Two more circled from behind, brandishing kunai. All of it looked like a standard pincer, but in truth, it was a smokescreen for Naruto's real plan beneath the arena floor.

Neji overcame the pincer with a swift flourish: rotating swiftly, unleashing a partial spin that repelled the clones with a wave of chakra-laced strikes. Three were destroyed outright, the rest parted to regroup. Yet he felt a slight tingle up his spine. Something about the ground underfoot… A flicker of suspicion made him shift stance. "Where is the real one?"

Then, the ring's surface erupted beneath him as Naruto emerged, punching upward. Neji, reacting a hair too slowly, caught a glancing blow to his side. Grunting, he was propelled off balance. But with a last-second contortion, he twisted midair and landed, albeit unsteadily, a short distance away. His hand clutched his side for an instant. That near miss could have spelled disaster.

"So you tried sneaking up from below," Neji panted quietly, regaining composure. "Not a bad tactic. But did you think I wouldn't figure it out eventually?" Despite his mocking tone, a faint line of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

Naruto stood upright, dusting off stray dirt from his sleeves. "You're quicker than expected," he conceded. "But guess what? I'm not done. Now I know for sure your legendary Byakugan can't fully catch an attack from beneath. That was more than a glancing blow, though. Are you feeling it, Hyūga?"

Neji spat a bit of red onto the dirt, ignoring the sting in his ribs. "If that's all you can do, you remain beneath me—fitting for a shinobi who used to cower and shine sandals in dark alleys. Did those humiliations teach you illusions about your worth?" As he spoke, he prepared himself to attempt one of the advanced clan maneuvers. "Let me show you a real demonstration. Since you amuse me with these half measures, I'll let you see my own 'secret technique.' Then you'll understand that your path is decided the moment you're born. Talent triumphs over dreams."

Naruto felt a spark of unease. He recognized from the swirl of chakra around Neji's form that a specialized Hyūga method was about to be invoked. Possibly the "Kaiten," or something akin to that rumored absolute defense. The Byakugan's swirling vantage, combined with specialized clan training, created a spinning dome of chakra that could repel nearly any direct assault. Naruto's clones, scattered around, tensed as if they, too, sensed the shift.

"Now, watch and learn," Neji intoned. Suddenly, he unleashed a surge of swirling chakra from every tenketsu, spinning rapidly on his axis. His body became a blur, chakra whirling outward to form a rotating barrier. The ground around him kicked up dust, pebbles, and bits of debris.

Naruto recognized it from fragments of rumor and from reading about clan techniques. "So that's that rumored rotation," he muttered, stepping back involuntarily. "The Hyūga revolve, releasing chakra from their pores, forming an impenetrable shell if timed right." Even so, he thought, every shell might have a crack.

"Kaiten—Revolving Heaven," Neji announced. The swirling barrier of chakra forcibly scattered the approaching clones, each disintegrating in hisses of chakra-laden smoke. Naruto covered his face with an arm, bracing against the gust. Then, with an abrupt cessation of spin, Neji stood in the center of a crater, dust floating around him. The ground was furrowed from the technique's outward push.

One figure remained upright: the real Naruto. He had avoided direct contact, anticipating the technique's range. He lowered his arm and took in the crater's edges. "So that's your ultimate defense." The question was how to circumvent it. He recalled Ichiro's voice in his mind: "Remember the blind spots. The rotation might be strong, but if you can exploit timing or angle, you can break through."

Neji exhaled, eyes flicking to the ragged holes in the terrain. "I told you: everything is decided from birth. The truly gifted wield absolute defenses. You, stumbling along from shoe shiner to shinobi, have no chance against a real bloodline user. Resist all you want—fate is set."

Naruto cocked his head. "You talk about fate, about gifts. But have you asked yourself how many people overcame adversity with sheer will? I used to polish boots, sure. But that taught me about grit. Maybe I inherited nothing that you think matters, or maybe I did—but I also push myself daily." He advanced, stepping carefully. "Stop prattling about destiny and face me. If your Kaiten is unstoppable, let's see you hold out forever."

Neji scowled. "You can't comprehend the depth of clan-based power. The Byakugan ensures I see every angle. My rotation shields me from every blow. You'll soon realize your illusions about forging your own path were naive." He parted his stance, preparing for Naruto's next move. "I'll give you a final demonstration, if you persist in your illusions."

Naruto formed a single seal again. "All illusions? Let's see you handle these illusions," he said ironically. "Shadow Clone Technique!" Another wave of clones materialized around him, forming a half-circle. At a gesture from Naruto, they rushed forward in a synchronized assault, hurling shuriken to test Neji's response. Just as predicted, the Hyūga initiated his rotation again, deflecting steel mid-flight. The clones dashed in, aiming to strike in the half-second after the rotation ended, but Neji's reflexes remained top-tier. He pivoted, unleashing palm strikes that destroyed the clones outright.

Naruto steadied himself, analyzing the intervals between rotations. The technique demanded a chunk of Neji's chakra. He might not sustain it indefinitely. "I've got an opening," he murmured. "Time to see if I can disrupt that spin." He inhaled, letting chakra swirl in his limbs.

Within his mind, Hikari's soothing voice whispered: "He's formidable, but you can break his technique if you disrupt the timing or strike from an angle he's not fully covering. Use your knowledge of the Byakugan's secrets and your studied vantage."

Naruto nodded mentally. "Yes, Mother. I'll try." He then raised his voice, addressing Neji: "Looks like your fancy spin is your main defense. I can see you're breathing heavier now."

Neji narrowed his eyes. "If you think I'm short of breath, you're mistaken. Unlike you, shining shoes for coppers on shady corners, I have the discipline of a clan's training from birth. My stamina won't fail me."

Naruto clenched his teeth. Another mention of the shoe-shiner past. He forcibly steadied himself, not letting the anger overtake him. If he flailed in rage, Neji would exploit an opening. Instead, Naruto's features shifted to calm focus. He quickly formed a swirl of chakra in his palm. He wasn't about to reveal all advanced jutsu, but perhaps a mid-tier technique might suffice to break through the rotation if timed well.

He feigned a direct dash, brandishing swirling energy. Neji readied the rotation. At the last second, Naruto pivoted, tossing a flash bomb at Neji's feet. A brilliant burst of light erupted, dazzling many in the stands. But Neji reflexively started the rotation, scattering the effect. Naruto expected that. He sprang backward to see the edges of the dome. This time, though, he hurled a kunai with an explosive tag from behind, letting it arc overhead. The bomb soared in from a near-vertical angle, precisely timed to detonate as Neji ended his spin.

Neji glimpsed the flicker overhead, but too late. The explosion boomed, sending up a thick cloud of dirt. The stands erupted in excited gasps. Naruto remained on guard, searching the dust for Neji's silhouette. When it cleared, Neji stood with a few superficial burns, panting slightly, but still upright. Blood trickled from a minor cut on his temple.

"That almost got me," Neji admitted, pressing a hand to the cut. "But my rotation mitigated enough of the blast."

Naruto frowned. That advanced technique's coverage seemed extremely thorough, even if the result was partial success. Still, he had inflicted some damage. "You can't keep doing that forever, Hyūga."

Neji forced a thin smirk. "If you think I'll collapse first, maybe I will humor you. But let's see how many times your illusions can amuse the crowd. Try shining my sandals again to see if it helps your sorry illusions."

Naruto flexed his fists, ignoring the barb. He advanced two steps, forging chakra into his arms. "All right, enough. Maybe I'll remind you: that shoe-shining job taught me resourcefulness. Let's see your rotation handle this!" He dashed in, weaving, feinting a punch from the left. Neji tensed, bracing to rotate. But at the last moment, Naruto pivoted into a sweeping leg kick from the right, an unorthodox angle aimed at the half-second before the spin fully took shape.

Neji, keen-eyed, recognized the feint but was forced to react. He partially spun, releasing a fragment of Kaiten. The swirl of chakra deflected Naruto's kick, yet Naruto slammed into the partial dome, wincing as the force launched him back. He managed to flip midair, landing on his feet in a crouch.

"Close," Naruto muttered, massaging his shin. "He's doping his rotation in smaller bursts. That's cunning."

Neji inhaled, then exhaled. "You see? Fate is set. No matter what creative illusions you conjure, the outcome remains as I declared. My absolute defense stands." Despite his words, beads of perspiration glistened on his brow. Maintaining partial or repeated rotations taxed him.

They squared off again, an uneasy stalemate. The crowd recognized the match's intensity. They erupted in cheers or anxious murmurs, enthralled. Some rooted for the Hyūga's unstoppable defense, others for Naruto's relentless determination. The tension soared.

Deep within his thoughts, Naruto consulted his father Ichiro: "He's weakening, but so am I. The next big exchange might decide it." Ichiro responded with a fatherly calm, "Recall your advantage. You know exactly where the Byakugan's blind spot lies. Exploit it once more, but time it so he can't rotate. Perhaps from above or an unusual angle." Hikari added gently, "You've come far. Trust your training, my child."

Naruto's expression set. He would do exactly that. He formed a single seal. "Shadow Clone Technique!" Another wave of clones—eight in number—spread out, each brandishing kunai. They orchestrated a pincer approach. Neji braced, expecting an assault from all sides. The clones rushed, launching simultaneous attacks. As expected, Neji spun once more, forming the swirling barrier. The clones dissolved, but in that swirl, a single kunai soared overhead, driven by a clone's throw. It hung for a moment in midair.

The rotation ended. Neji turned his gaze upward just in time to see that kunai come whistling down. He had enough presence of mind to twist away—but realized, too late, that it was a mere feint. The real threat came from Naruto, who had soared above in a leap, performing a diving maneuver. Naruto carried a swirling orb of compressed chakra in his right hand. He'd timed it to coincide with the conclusion of Neji's spin. With the spin concluded and the dome dropping, the Hyūga had limited time to form a second rotation.

Neji frantically tried to pivot and raise chakra. "Kaiten—!" he started, but Naruto was already upon him. The swirling orb—an improvised mid-tier jutsu, not his top technique but potent enough—descended onto the dome's half-formed swirl. The collision sparked a shockwave of chakra, rattling the immediate area. The stands collectively gasped.

A harsh snap of energy propelled Naruto backward, the backlash jolting him off-balance. He managed to land in a crouch, panting. Neji, for his part, flew several meters, rolling across the ground, each tumble scattering dust. He came to rest in a battered heap, forcing himself onto one elbow. Blood trickled from multiple cuts, and his breathing sounded ragged. The partial dome had protected him from a direct finish, but the damage was significant.

For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then cheers and gasps erupted. Some spectators rose from their seats. The Hokage surveyed the scene with intense focus, while the Kazekage leaned forward, narrowing his eyes at the battered genin. The proctor observed from the ring's perimeter, prepared to intervene if needed.

Neji coughed, pushing to his knees. "You… that was closer than I expected," he muttered. "But do not celebrate yet, shoe polisher. I can still fight." He glared at Naruto, though his vision swam.

Naruto exhaled, equally winded, hands on his thighs. "Just give up," he managed. "We both know your advantage is crumbling. Your rotation is still formidable, but you can't keep it up. And your Byakugan can't hide the truth from me: you're out of gas." Even as he spoke, though, Naruto's limbs ached, the bruises from repeated repulsion stinging.

Neji retorted, "I won't yield. Fate has me as the victor. A mere alleyway boot-shiner—someone who used to kneel day after day—doesn't surpass true lineage." His voice wavered, but the defiance remained.

Naruto steadied himself, ignoring the simmering anger at the repeated jabs about his old shoe-shining days. "I keep telling you, we shape our own futures. No matter how many times you say otherwise, I'll prove it." Summoning the last vestiges of stamina, he advanced.

The proctor watched carefully, seeing both genin were nearing their limits. He raised a hand as if considering whether to halt the match. But the crowd's fervor and the sight of both competitors still upright dissuaded him. This was a moment for the fighters to decide.

Naruto lifted one arm, focusing what chakra he had left. He recognized that more shadow clones might be possible, but each drain decreased his chances for a final finishing blow. Meanwhile, Neji assumed a partial Gentle Fist stance, though his trembling indicated possible chakra exhaustion.

A hush fell again. Every soul present sensed the next exchange would be decisive. The tension felt like a coiled spring. The wind above the stadium had died, leaving the flags limp, the air motionless. In a corner of his mind, Naruto conferred with Ichiro and Hikari. "This is it, Father, Mother. I'm going to exploit his blind spot one final time. Or else it ends in a stalemate."

Ichiro's paternal voice was resolute: "Trust your skill. You've studied the Byakugan thoroughly. Attack at that precise angle." Hikari added, "We're with you, child. Show him your unbreakable will."

Naruto inhaled, letting those words embolden him. He began to dash forward, feinting left. Neji readied a partial rotation, bracing. Instead, Naruto used his momentum to vault upward, flipping behind Neji's left shoulder. The Hyūga whipped around. The Byakugan picked up the movement, but not quickly enough to fully rotate. Naruto's open palm aimed at the upper blind zone near Neji's spine.

Neji, desperate, attempted to spin anyway, but could only muster a fraction of Kaiten. The swirl formed a partial shield that deflected Naruto's strike. At the same instant, Neji managed a short-range Gentle Fist jab that connected with Naruto's side, sending a flash of numbing pain. Both fighters recoiled, each receiving partial damage from the other. They stumbled away, panting.

"Ngh… that's the best you can do, shoe shiner? Not enough," Neji hissed, though his voice was faint. Blood streaked his chin, and his left arm hung stiffly.

Naruto suppressed a grimace, ignoring the jolt in his side. He wondered if Neji had closed a few of his tenketsu with that jab, limiting chakra flow. "Stop calling me that," he muttered dangerously. "I overcame that life. But if it was my job, so what? I survived. Now, I do more than survive—I thrive. And I won't let you degrade me or anyone else."

Neji's smirk grew sharper. "Oh, you'd like to change the past, would you? Rid yourself of that stigma?" His tone dripped with condescension. "But the past is set in stone. Just as your destiny is set. Nothing you do changes that you once knelt at people's feet, trying to scrape out a living. No matter how high you climb, you'll always be that same kid wearing a threadbare disguise."

Naruto's heartbeat pounded in his ears, each pulse throbbing with indignation. He forced himself to remain calm for the moment. "I never tried to pretend I was perfect. But at least I never tried to kill a comrade in the Chūnin Exams like you did with Hinata."

That statement triggered an immediate hush among watchers. Everyone recalled that harrowing fight in the preliminaries, where Neji's aggression almost led to lethal consequences. Neji's face tightened, but he responded with chill composure. "Is that your moral high ground? You assume you're better because you never went for a kill shot in a match? Don't talk as though you are some saint, shoe polisher. Our clan's matters go beyond a simple scuffle."

Naruto's stomach twisted at the repeated phrase "shoe polisher," but he pressed on. "You tried to break Hinata's spirit. Mocked her beliefs, belittled her heritage, and hammered her with brutal force. Hinata's my friend—I couldn't stand by and let that go unchallenged."

Neji's retort came fast, "I have my reasons. Her being from the main branch is but one piece. Another piece is that your meddling in certain events changed everything. Surprised? You think I wouldn't find out the truth of that night. This entire dynamic with Hinata would be simpler if not for you. Let's not pretend you're guiltless. You saved her that day—yes, the day the envoy from the Hidden Cloud tried to steal her. You, of all people, prevented the kidnapping from being completed. Don't you see how that forced my father to be sacrificed instead? The Hidden Cloud blamed my clan and demanded reparations in the Clan Head's head. But my father was handed over in his brother's stead to protect the Byakugan. If you hadn't intervened, you might have let events go differently. My father… might still be alive."

This revelation drew a collective gasp from the spectators. Many of them had not known that it was Naruto who singlehandedly alerted the village to the infiltration attempt. Naruto's jaw tensed. "All I did was what I thought was right. I happened to see suspicious movements, and I alerted the authorities. If that was used as cause to sacrifice your father, blame your clan elders or the manipulations of the political system. Blame the Cloud for orchestrating it in the first place. Don't you dare dump that on me." His voice was raw with frustration.

Neji took a step forward, veins bulging around his eyes as if the Byakugan threatened to activate again at full strength. "You say it's not your responsibility? Because of your 'heroic' interference, the Cloud-nin's plan failed, and to avoid war, the Hyūga clan delivered a scapegoat. My father—my father was offered up. We are caged in that fate, shoe shiner, bound by unchangeable destiny."

Something about the phrase "shoe shiner" struck Naruto's heart like a dagger each time. He forced his breathing steady. "It's not destiny, it's cruelty. If your clan had half the sense they claim, they'd see the twisted nature of that sacrifice, of their cursed-seal system. Don't talk to me about inevitability. You're clinging to bitterness because that's easier than facing your clan's mistakes."

Within Naruto's mind, the ghostly voices of his Otsutsuki parents resonated. Ichiro's solemn baritone said: "Steady now, Naruto. Don't let him twist your emotions. Remember, you hold the Byakugan's secrets as well. You can see the holes in his arguments—literally." Hikari's warm, gentle tone followed: "His hurt runs deep. Approach him with caution. Show him his anger won't break you."

Naruto silently acknowledged them, focusing on the tension at hand. "No matter how much you blame me or my meddling, you're not changing anything by trying to kill your clan's heir or belittling those who overcame adversity. If anything, you're fulfilling the cycle of hatred you say you despise. See how twisted that is?"

Neji clenched both fists. He quivered with barely suppressed rage. "You… a mere poseur in black with some Uzumaki swirl on your shoulders, dare lecture me? You posture as if you're some champion of the downtrodden. But face it: shining shoes is your real place, kneeling in an alley, scrounging for coin. You think you outran that life? Fate doesn't let us outrun anything. You remain that child no matter what illusions you conjure about forging your own path. And I will crush you, show the world your illusions crumble before the Hyūga's might."

Naruto's lips formed a tight line. He forced an exhale. He refused to show how deeply the repeated mention of his old secret identity, "Hiro the shoe shiner," cut into him. "Enough," he said at last, forging chakra into his limbs. "I'll defend Hinata's name, I'll defend my own. If you want to test me, then let's finish this right now."

Neji raised his chin imperiously. "I welcome it. Then let everyone witness how inescapable fate truly is." The stadium seemed to hold its breath. Onlookers sat transfixed, perched at the edges of stone seats, while the proctor eyed both combatants warily. That tension made the air bristle with electricity, as though the entire ring had become a thundercloud about to discharge lightning.

A ripple of reaction spread through the crowd. Some civilians whispered about the revelation that Naruto was connected to the prior Cloud infiltration. Others murmured about the rumored shoe-shining story, uncertain if it was fact or slander. Among the shinobi, many exchanged glances of mild surprise—they had heard rumors about Naruto's cunning approach to finances but never questioned it. A few jōnin, already aware of certain truths, simply shook their heads: the boy's personal struggles were his own, and they refused to judge him for them. But not all the watchers were so sympathetic.

At the same time, a hush of empathy spread among a small cluster of watchers who knew how the Hyūga clan's caged bird seal impacted family members. They gleaned from Neji's words that he singled Naruto out for his father's death, fueling his vendetta. The fight's tension soared as each second passed.

Naruto inhaled deeply, calling upon his reserves of chakra. He considered using illusions or multi-layered strategies to break through the Hyūga's Gentle Fist. Meanwhile, Neji flexed his hands, eyes darting to catch any faint tremor in Naruto's posture. A swirl of dust parted around them as both shifted stances, the proctor standing aside but poised to intervene if needed.

"You talk about illusions," Naruto began in a subdued tone, "but you're the one clinging to illusions of fate. If you truly want to avenge your father or free your branch from oppression, find a real solution. Attacking Hinata or lashing out at me accomplishes nothing."

Neji barked a mirthless laugh. "From you, all I hear is arrogance. You speak as though your presence in this village is beneficial. Don't you realize many still see you as the demon child, the one rumored to carry something monstrous? You tried to hide behind some shoe-shiner persona, but it's all the same."

A slight muscle in Naruto's cheek twitched, but he kept quiet. Inside, Ichiro's voice reminded him: "Remain calm. Focus on the fight, not the insults." Hikari murmured support, telling him that mastery over emotions was as vital as any technique. Naruto nodded internally, letting the anger recede to a simmer.

"Say what you want. We're finishing this," Naruto said crisply, raising one hand in a half-seal. "I'll show you just how 'fated' your loss is."

Without further ado, both launched themselves forward. The ring erupted in a swirling clash of fists, palm strikes, chakra-laced steps. Naruto used cunning footwork to slip around the Hyūga's vantage, occasionally unleashing partial illusions or shadow clones to test Neji's reflexes. Neji responded with a near-omnipresent watchfulness, pivoting swiftly to block each approach. Fists and palms met with resounding thuds. Kunai flickered through the air in short bursts, only to be deflected or dodged.

The scuffle roamed across the dusty floor, sometimes edging dangerously close to the ring's boundary walls, where cracks from earlier battles marred the stone. Each time Naruto pressed forward, Neji either turned him aside with a measured palm thrust or threatened to unleash a swirling Kaiten rotation. Occasionally, Naruto retreated to regroup, mindful of the stamina costs. Meanwhile, Neji's breath gradually grew heavier, but he refused to cede an inch.

At one point, Naruto, breathing hard, formed three shadow clones that charged from multiple angles. Neji dealt with them by quick bursts of Jūken, but not before one clone tossed a spool of wire in an attempt to hamper his spinning. The spool tangled briefly at Neji's ankles, but with a flash of chakra, he severed the lines, resisting the effort to neutralize the Kaiten. The crowd erupted with scattered cheers or gasps, enthralled by the technical brilliance.

Neji's eyes flicked to Naruto. "Not bad. But the result remains the same. Fate denies you." Then, with a swirl, he unleashed a partial rotation that knocked away two newly formed clones. He advanced, palm extended, trying to land a direct strike on Naruto's chakra network. If he could block enough tenketsu, Naruto would be rendered helpless. Naruto barely evaded, feeling the brush of a blow that left a numb patch on his left forearm.

Naruto hissed through his teeth. "That was close," he muttered. Then he sprang backward. "But I can see your pattern. You're leaving an opening." He lunged in with a feint from the right, pulling back at the last second. As predicted, Neji reflexively shifted, revealing the slightest gap to the left. Naruto launched a half-powered but carefully aimed punch, connecting with the edge of Neji's rib cage. The Hyūga coughed, stumbling a step, but recovered quickly enough to keep from being fully thrown.

The crowd roared louder. The Hokage watched from above with somber interest, while the Kazekage's posture hinted at curiosity. The proctor edged closer, watchful of the match's precarious balance.

"You think that will break my resolve?" Neji spat, though the beads of sweat on his brow told a different story. "No… your illusions must fail."

Naruto forced a smirk. "I'll do more than that. I'll shatter your illusions of inevitability." Once more, they clashed in a furious exchange of hits, each reading the other's movements. Neji brandished Gentle Fist with lethal precision, Naruto using a mixture of unpredictable illusions and cunning footwork. Now and then, Naruto recalled how in his mind's domain he possessed the Byakugan's knowledge from his Otsutsuki heritage, but he dared not reveal or openly use it. Instead, he gleaned enough from memory to anticipate the arcs of Neji's palm strikes.

At last, an intense standstill returned. Both stood with labored breaths, dust swirling around them. The proctor half-raised an arm, uncertain if to call time or let them continue. Then Naruto advanced yet again, forging chakra into his right fist. Neji answered by shifting stance, evidently preparing to revolve. Naruto recognized it as the Kaiten. The tension soared.

In a dramatic swirl, Naruto feigned a frontal assault, only to vanish into a low crouch on Neji's flank. He hammered at Neji's side with a fierce blow. The Kaiten formed too slowly to repel it fully. A partial swirl of chakra deflected some force, but Naruto still connected enough to send Neji off-balance. The Hyūga gasped, stumbling backward. The entire ring seemed to hold its breath in that instant, watchers bracing for a final blow.

Naruto raised his fist high, ready to deliver a finishing strike. Neji, battered and panting, saw that his rotation could not form in time. The audience collectively leaned forward. One last second might decide everything.

The proctor stepped in at that moment, calling a halt. "Enough! He can't continue," he announced. He turned to where Neji lay half-collapsed. "Hyūga, do you yield?"

Neji tried to rise, trembling with fatigue, but his limbs refused. He coughed, a fleck of blood on his lips. Realizing the dire state, the proctor repeated, "Do you yield?" Silence. Another moment. Then the proctor exhaled. "The winner is… Naruto."

A roar of reaction filled the stadium. Some rose to cheer, others sat stunned. The Hokage offered a small nod from the high box. The Kazekage's posture was unreadable. The proctor gestured for medics to approach, though Neji, battered, forced himself upright on one elbow, glaring at the ground. Naruto, standing over him, was breathing heavily but otherwise victorious.

Naruto lowered his fist, chest heaving. "It's over," he said. The medics hurried in. The crowd's noise swelled, an avalanche of applause, gasps, and scattered talk. A wave of relief coursed through Naruto, though he also felt sympathy for Neji's bitterness.

In a calmer tone, Naruto addressed Neji, "Look, you might hate me for the Cloud incident or blame me for saving Hinata that night. But I didn't do it to ruin your father's fate. And I sure didn't do it to mock your clan. One day, maybe you'll see that." He turned, stepping away, leaving the Hyūga to the medics.

Neji's eyes blazed with fury. He could barely push up on an elbow, but the words from Naruto stung deeply. Worse, Naruto had the gall to lecture him about forging one's path. The sting of defeat, the recollection that it was Naruto who set in motion events that forced the Hyūga's "sacrifice,"

combined with the repeated mention of Hinata's name, ignited Neji's sense of resentment. And the final bit about how Naruto was somehow "better" rung in his ears.

Naruto, from the corner of his vision, glimpsed the Hyūga lying there. He started to stride away fully, ignoring the swirl of the stadium crowd. Then, behind him, he heard Neji muster a last petty shot. That voice, laced with hate, called out:

"Going to get your shine box from Building Twenty-Seven, Hiro? Maybe the daimyō want their sandals rubbed."

The arena fell into abrupt silence. A hush so deep it felt like the air turned to lead. Many in the crowd blinked, mystified by the reference. But a portion of them, especially certain civilians who'd gossiped for months, recalled rumors linking the name "Hiro the shoe shiner" to Naruto. Murmurs spread like wildfire: "Wait, Hiro was Naruto?" "That can't be." "He was the one who polished shoes so skillfully in secret?" Soon, confusion turned to indignation among those who had once refused him service out of fear or loathing for the "demon child," or ironically had used his shining service under disguise.

The combination of old resentments and shock made many villagers begin to hiss. A wave of animosity rose, fueled by the dark memories of the "Kyuubi brat," the fiasco of earlier tragedies. Some realized that they themselves might have unwittingly let Naruto shine their sandals or boots. An outraged civilian cried, "He touched my shoes? That's repulsive!" Another spat, "The demon kid tricked us!" The noise escalated as men and women began to boo or shout curses.

Naruto halted mid-step, his spine rigid. For a moment, he stood there, turned away from Neji, head lowered. In that hush, an ominous energy crackled around him. His mind whirled. So that's it—Neji just outed me. The entire village will know how I used that shoe-shining identity to survive. They'll shun me or worse. My tenants… everything I built quietly under that name is compromised. He felt a wave of boiling anger, regret, and humiliation all swirl together.

Inside his head, Ichiro's voice urgently whispered: "Calm yourself, child. Don't let your temper rule you." But Naruto only half-heard it, a red haze forming at the edges of his thoughts. Hikari tried adding: "Naruto, breathe. This is not the moment to lose control…" Yet frustration overcame reason.

Neji recognized that hesitation, saw Naruto's shoulders tense. A flicker of grim triumph crossed Neji's battered features. Even if I lost the fight, I struck at his pride. He parted his lips, about to sneer. Then the explosion happened.

Suddenly, from Naruto's back burst several glowing, golden-orange chains of chakra, each lashing out with violent force. In the stands, shinobi gasped in alarm. The proctor froze, seeing something quite unexpected. One chain snapped forward, smacking the exhausted Neji across the face and chest with a brutal whip-like blow. The Hyūga's body was flung sideways, somersaulting multiple times before crashing to the ground, unconscious. The entire stadium erupted in chaos. Gasps, screams, or curses filled the air. The medical-nin who had been approaching Neji scrambled back in fear.

Naruto's eyes burned with fury. He barely registered what he'd done, only that Neji's jibe cut him too deeply. The final humiliation of having his shoe-shining secret exposed to the entire village, on top of the Cloud incident accusations, shattered his composure. Now the furious swirl of chakra chains writhed around him, ready to lash out again.

Horror flared in the watchers. Some began to boo or hurl insults at Naruto. Shinobi onlookers recognized the dangerous aura. The proctor tried to intervene, but the situation escalated too fast. Naruto turned sharply, half-lunging toward Neji as though to vent more wrath. In that heartbeat, a tall figure slammed down: Jiraiya. The white-haired sage forcibly grabbed Naruto's arms, pinning them. The chains flailed, but Jiraiya expertly wove a binding seal with one hand, muting them. At the same time, half a dozen ANBU dropped into the ring, swords drawn, forming a circle around them.

"Stop it, Naruto!" Jiraiya barked in a resonant voice. "Calm down! You've done enough!" He wrestled with Naruto, who glared back at him with blazing eyes, chest heaving. The stadium fell into a stunned hush, then erupted again with outraged jeers and disbelieving murmurs.

"What are you doing?" the proctor demanded, stepping forward. But he saw the ANBU's half-lifted swords and realized they intended to quell Naruto's rampage.

Jiraiya's voice echoed. "Naruto, I'm disappointed in you. You let a petty taunt break your discipline, and you struck down an opponent who was already defeated. That is not how a shinobi should behave!" His tone carried real anger and sorrow. The crowd's hostility soared, many now booing or screaming, "Get out, demon!" or "We always knew he was trouble!" Objects began flying—some spectators literally threw shoes, small trash, or bits of debris. The ANBU deflected a few items, forming a protective ring.

Naruto, pinned by Jiraiya's strong grip, didn't speak. In his mind, guilt warred with fury. Ichiro's and Hikari's mental voices wept caution: "This is exactly the fiasco we warned you about. Reign in your temper." He halfheartedly tried to jerk free but realized the futility. He simply glowered, eyes lowered, as the ring thundered with condemnation. The ferocity of the crowd's reaction hammered him. He had messed up. Royally.

Jiraiya wrested Naruto's headband from him in one swift motion. "You're suspended," the older man declared bitterly. "Attacking a downed opponent is inexcusable. Especially in front of foreign dignitaries and your own people. We can't allow you to proceed. Don't say a word. You stand down, now."

The jōnin in the stands, some of them who had admired Naruto's earlier performance, shook their heads in dismay. "What a shame," muttered one. "He showed promise, only to blow it like that." Another sighed. "Seems like he lost his grip. A real pity." Some genin who had seen Naruto as an inspiration stared in silent confusion. A few openly called it a foolish meltdown.

The Hokage, far above, closed his eyes, shaking his head. He still has a long road to walk, both in controlling his emotions and building trust with the village, thought the old leader. The Kazekage watched impassively, though one might guess the corners of his mouth twitched at the spectacle.

Jiraiya then signaled to the ANBU, who nodded and gathered around Naruto. "We'll escort him out. Orders?" one masked operative asked. Jiraiya sighed. "Take him to a secure location. I'll handle discipline personally." He gave Naruto a long, disappointed stare. Naruto averted his eyes, face contorting with mingled shame and resentment. But he didn't resist further.

Up in the stands, many spectators continued booing, some standing to hurl curses. In the row of seats reserved for genin finalists, a hush fell, overshadowed by a swirl of confusion. A few, who had admired Naruto's skill, now watched him be marched away under guard. The proctor in the ring exhaled, rubbing his temple. With the ring in disarray, the dust swirling once more, the medics hurried in to collect the now fully unconscious Neji for urgent treatment. The battered Hyūga's chest rose and fell shallowly. No one had expected the match to end so controversially.

Another hush settled, and the proctor cleared his throat. "By the authority of the Hokage, in light of the direct assault on a downed, defenseless opponent, Uzumaki Naruto is henceforth disqualified from the finals." The final words reverberated through the stadium, igniting a fresh wave of boos from sections of the crowd. Some let out triumphant sneers at the "demon child's" downfall, while a handful of watchers quietly looked away in sorrow, disappointed that the fight had devolved to such a spectacle.

Shoes, bits of trash, even small rocks flew in Naruto's direction, though the ANBU guard fended them off with swift arms or deflecting swords. The entire time, Naruto kept his head down, eyes hooded, feeling the scorching weight of humiliation. Jiraiya's presence burned at his side like an accusing flame, though the Sannin looked more disheartened than furious now. The day that had begun with such promise had turned disastrous.

The few friends Naruto had among the ranks of Konoha shinobi, or those who understood his complexities, stood in pained silence. They recognized that society's condemnation would now intensify.

Flanked by four ANBU, Naruto walked in the midst of the scornful stadium. Boots, sandals, and random debris rained from the stands, though not all watchers participated—some simply stared, others left in disgust. He kept his gaze down, occasionally wincing if a piece of rubbish struck near him. But he no longer responded or lashed out. The ephemeral chakra chains had receded entirely, sealed by Jiraiya's quick interference.

He glimpsed the medics wheeling Neji away on a stretcher, the Hyūga's face slack with unconsciousness. A swirl of bitterness churned in Naruto's chest. He told himself that Neji had forced his hand with that final, humiliating taunt, but part of him knew he had a choice in how he reacted. Now the entire fiasco left a sour taste of regret.

Once they reached the exit corridor, Jiraiya forcibly guided him up a flight of steps. The stands' roaring fury faded behind them. The older man let out a ragged sigh. "Kid… you really messed up. We'll talk later." Naruto offered no reply, only a half-lidded glare. They disappeared into the corridor's shadow, with the ANBU flanking them.

Returning to the ring, the proctor signaled for hush. "We will proceed with the next match once the area is cleared," he said. "But let it be known, Naruto is disqualified. All results he achieved so far are null. This match's official winner remains uncertain, but the ruling stands: Naruto forfeits the final. The bracket may be adjusted accordingly." He paused, rubbing his temple at the headache. "Spectators, remain calm. Our staff will remove the debris, and we'll continue with the next fight."

The crowd's volume dipped, but not by much. Everyone had an opinion on what just happened. Many were outraged or perplexed. Some merely shook their heads, lamenting wasted potential. Others felt vindicated in their old prejudices, concluding the "demon child" label was deserved. Meanwhile, those who recognized that Neji's final words about "Building Twenty-Seven" and "Hiro" had triggered Naruto's meltdown weighed the tragedy of that revelation. The shoe-shining rumor was no rumor anymore—Naruto had confirmed it with his reaction. That entire swirl of secrets was out.

Asuma murmured to Kurenai, "I suppose we can't fully blame Naruto. Neji basically forced him to snap by humiliating him in front of everyone." Kurenai nodded, "Yes, but discipline can't ignore that he attacked a helpless foe. The village has to be consistent, especially with so many foreign guests watching. The Hokage's hands are tied. And Jiraiya stepping in like that… it's a fiasco."

Above, the Hokage exhaled heavily. Naruto, we spoke so often about composure, about the path forward. I never wanted your secret overshadowing your progress. Yet here we stand. Bowing his head an inch, he signaled an ANBU messenger. "You see now what we must do. Instruct the proctor to finalize the disqualification. The finals proceed. We can't unravel this further." The messenger nodded, flickered away. The Hokage rubbed his temples. He must learn from this, as painful as it is. We can't shield him from consequences.

The Kazekage, standing to the side, offered a neutral, "A regrettable twist. That boy had the crowd in the palm of his hand… until that meltdown." The Hokage nodded, not replying further. The day's event had turned sour enough.

Held in place by the ANBU, Naruto trudged along. Jiraiya walked a half-step behind him. The corridor was lit by flickering torches, giving it a dim, moody aura. Naruto stared at the floor, jaw clenched. He felt the sting of tears threatening at the corners of his eyes but refused to yield to them. He loathed how everything he built might now collapse. The building he purchased under the alias "Hiro," the tenants who unknowingly paid him rent, the entire investment strategy he'd used to survive. All likely gone or complicated.

He also hated how he'd validated every rumor about him being dangerous. That truth bit at him worse than anything Neji said. In his mind, Ichiro's voice spoke softly: "You must hold your head up. Mistakes happen, but you can't let them define you." Hikari added: "We love you, child. You must move past this. Even if it hurts now."

Naruto mentally responded, I messed up. I know. I let him get to me. He sighed heavily, ignoring Jiraiya's glances. He had no illusions about how the rest of the exam watchers would treat him from now on. In the hush of the corridor, only the shuffle of feet and the clink of ANBU gear echoed.

The arena buzzed with uneasy murmurs as the aftermath of the unexpected disqualification still hung in the air. Overlooking the chaos, the Hokage and the Kazekage maintained a composed front, each occupying their seat in the high platform reserved for them.

"Though the result was not as anticipated," the Hokage remarked quietly, "it certainly left a strong impression on everyone present."

The Kazekage inclined his head. "Indeed. Your village's participant showcased remarkable skill prior to that outburst. Had he not lost his temper, he might well have continued in the finals. To counter the Hyūga's defensive style was no small feat."

Both leaders allowed a brief pause. Below them, debris was being cleared, and spectators continued debating the disqualification, some still furious, others lamenting a wasted talent. The Hokage cast a glance at the scattered remains of the arena's walls. "It is regrettable how anger can overshadow potential. But as Hokage, I have a duty to uphold the rules, no matter how disappointing the outcome."

The Kazekage offered a reflective nod. "Rules must be observed, even if emotion runs high. My own child, Temari, is up next. She has trained diligently and will not shy away from showing what Sunagakure can produce."

From a corner near the Kage seats, Jiraiya stood with arms folded, quietly gauging the Kazekage's demeanor. He had seen this man before and recalled him as someone who rarely indulged in lengthy praise or outward warmth. To hear him speak so readily about Temari was unusual. Jiraiya's brows knitted in mild suspicion. He's changed in manner—maybe it's genuine, he thought, yet I can't shake the sense something else is at play.

Amid the swirl of activity below, staff prepared the ring for Temari's upcoming match. The Hokage, focusing briefly on the scene, spoke in a grave tone, "The crowd should settle soon, though they remain unsettled by that abrupt disqualification. We can only hope the next battle proceeds more smoothly."

"Yes," agreed the Kazekage, sweeping his gaze across the stands. "Sunagakure is eager to display our capabilities, yet I trust your officiators will maintain close supervision. Emotions are clearly running hot after that fiasco."

Jiraiya, hands behind his back, murmured just loud enough for them to hear, "I'll be watching carefully myself. Surprises seem to be the theme of the day."

The Hokage offered no immediate reply but nodded, acknowledging Jiraiya's vigilance. The earlier match had proven how quickly fortunes could shift, and a knot of unease settled in the pit of his stomach. I must remain vigilant, he told himself. Not just for the finals, but for whatever undercurrents may be lurking.

Below, the proctor signaled that preparations for the next fight were nearly complete. Both the Hokage and the Kazekage straightened, ready to observe Temari's performance. Whatever transpired next, the spectacle would go on—tempered by lingering disquiet from a match that ended in disqualification and a storm of controversy.

A subdued tension settled over the stadium the moment the previous debacle concluded. The glaring absence of certain figures, and the uproar surrounding the abrupt disqualification of a previous participant, left many spectators unsettled. Nevertheless, the Chunin Exams pressed on, determined to fill the day with the next scheduled battles.

High in the stands, clusters of onlookers whispered about the earlier controversies. Among those present were Asuma, Kurenai, Ino, Choji, Iruka, Hinata, Kiba, Shino, and Tenten—each sporting varying degrees of concern, curiosity, or disapproval. The news of that unexpected disqualification, sparked by a violent outburst, lingered in the air like a bitter aftertaste.

"I still can't believe what happened," murmured Ino, arms folded tightly across her chest. She wore an expression of mingled shock and disappointment. "All those rumors floating around about his incredible talent, and look how it ended."

Choji, seated beside her, took a slow bite from a bag of chips—though even his appetite appeared subdued by the events. "Yeah… the crowd's still upset. No one saw it coming: the final blow, the chain lashing, and then the official announcement. It's all people can talk about."

Kiba, arms draped over the back of his seat, let out a low growl. "I don't get it. How do you lose your cool right then and there? You'd think a Genin who got this far would have more self-control. It stinks."

From behind them, Shino adjusted his glasses, voice calm. "Emotions can cloud judgment, especially under public scrutiny. If rumors are true, he held back for so long, then everything snapped. One moment of fury is all it takes."

Iruka, who knew many of these young shinobi since their Academy days, exhaled a weary sigh. "I always warned them about letting anger override reason. None of us expected something quite so severe. There's frustration, yes, but to strike out at an opponent who was already down... It's worrying."

Hinata, perched a short distance away, glanced downward, face etched with sorrow. Her gaze flicked to the empty patch of arena floor where two individuals had faced off not long ago, culminating in one being carried away unconscious and the other dragged out by security. "He…shouldn't have done that," she whispered, her tone laden with disappointment. "Neji-san—" she paused, uncertain how to articulate her tangled feelings. "I can't excuse him for all his cruel words, but still, that final act… I wish none of it had happened."

"It's a huge letdown," Tenten agreed softly. She shook her head. "With them out of the picture now, the rest of the matches have to go on, but it leaves a bad taste for everyone. Still, best we focus on what's about to happen. We do have a fight coming up."

A dull roar from the crowd indicated that the proctor was once more stepping forward to announce the next contestants. Word had spread that the upcoming match involved neither the recently disqualified shinobi nor any immediate controversy, so the audience roused itself, hoping for a clean, entertaining duel.

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the stadium, Asuma looked on with hooded eyes. He hadn't spoken much since the fiasco. The outcome weighed on him, especially after considering how the Chunin Exams were intended to highlight potential leaders. "What a waste," he muttered, mostly to Kurenai, who stood next to him.

"I know," she replied, pressing a hand to her chin. "All that skill—and then throwing it away in a rage. The fiasco overshadowed everything else, including the earlier match with Neji. I heard there was a dispute that had been brewing for weeks. Now it's ended so spectacularly that people will talk about it for years to come."

From a few seats away, Tenten nodded grimly. "Most of us in the stands only realized something was off when that final strike landed. Everyone froze. Then the proctor made that call, and it was over."

"Do you think the Hokage had a hand in that final decision?" asked Iruka quietly. "He seemed pained, but the rules are clear. Striking a helpless opponent—especially with lethal intent—can't be ignored."

Kiba huffed, crossing his arms. "No matter what bad blood existed, or how big his grudge was, losing your temper like that's inexcusable." He tapped a foot impatiently. "I can't blame the proctor or the Hokage for disqualifying him. The crowd is outraged, but a line was crossed."

"Yet you can't deny how the entire fiasco overshadowed the earlier drama with Neji," said Ino. She bit her lip. "Some people claim Neji started half of it, spouting insults about that old shoe-shining secret he overheard a month ago. Did you catch wind of that?"

Choji shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, it's all over the stands. Some claim they recognized that alias from years back. It's… complicated. And it's made a lot of civilians mad that no one told them the kid they hired to polish their shoes was the so-called 'demon child.' It's turning ugly."

Iruka rubbed his temple. "It's important not to let rumors overshadow everything. But after that public reveal, people are liable to lash out. The entire village is on edge."

"You can't fix it now," Kurenai murmured. "The damage is done. That's not to say I condone attacking someone so viciously. But part of me wonders if a calmer approach early on could've prevented all this. The tension with Neji was obviously building. If only the proctors had stepped in sooner, maybe it wouldn't have ended so badly."

The loudspeaker crackled as the proctor's voice rose, announcing the next match: Shikamaru from the Nara clan against Temari, a wind-user from the desert lands. The crowd stirred, redirecting their collective gaze. A ripple of excitement ran through the stands. At least one more fight would proceed normally, free of scandal—so they hoped.

Down in the arena, a mild breeze ruffled the dust. Shikamaru appeared with slouched shoulders, wearing an expression of pure inconvenience. Temari faced him, giant fan in hand, eyes glinting with readiness.

In the audience, Tenten switched her attention to the new face-off. "Let's see how this goes. Shikamaru's known for strategy, but from what I hear, Temari doesn't fool around."

Kurenai nodded. "He's brilliant, if a bit lazy. She's confident, if a bit brash. This should be interesting."

Asuma, arms folded, offered a small smile. "I'm sure the kid is cursing his luck, but if he sets his mind to it, he'll surprise everyone." He lowered his voice. "We need a decent fight to lighten the mood after that fiasco, anyway."

Up above them, the Hokage and the Kazekage observed closely. Whatever had happened earlier, the exam had to continue. The proctor raised an arm, scanning both contestants. In a loud, clear tone, he declared the second match of the day: Shikamaru Nara vs. Temari.

"Man, what a drag," Shikamaru mumbled, audible enough for the few who sat nearby to chuckle. Temari raised her fan, a sly grin crossing her face.

Below in the stands, a subdued hush fell. The memory of the drama involving Naruto and Neji still lingered, but a new excitement blossomed as a fresh confrontation began. If no more tempers exploded, the crowd might set aside their anger for a moment.

Shikamaru sighed, stepping into the arena center. He eyed Temari warily. She responded by brandishing her fan, snapping it open with a flourish. A swirl of wind kicked up dust around her feet. The audience leaned forward collectively.

"Guess I have no choice but to do this," he muttered. "Can't lose here—especially to a woman, or I'll never live it down." He scratched his head, glancing up at the sky. "Still… is it worth all the trouble?"

Temari arched an eyebrow. "You say something, lazy boy? You better bring more than big talk, or you'll get blown away in seconds."

He grunted, not bothering to retort. Instead, he crouched slightly, forming the seal for his shadow possession technique. The crowd recognized it from his earlier performances. Ino and Choji shared a look, recalling how Shikamaru once rescued them in smaller missions by simply outsmarting the enemy.

Temari scoffed at the forming shadow beneath Shikamaru's feet. "Don't think you can just snag me with that trick. I've seen how it works. You'll have to be more creative."

"Creative, huh…" Shikamaru mused. "How irritating. Fine. I'll see what you do with that fan of yours."

Temari responded swiftly, swinging her fan to whip up a gust that sent a cloud of dust directly at Shikamaru. He dove to the side, letting out a disgruntled "Tch!" as the debris scattered around him. The audience stirred with approval—these two clearly had contrasting styles. While Shikamaru specialized in cunning maneuvers, Temari relied on wide-ranging attacks to corner her foe.

Up in the stands, Iruka watched closely. "Shikamaru rarely moves unless forced. Let's see how he handles someone who fights at a distance."

From her vantage point, Hinata, arms hugging her knees, attempted to concentrate on the unfolding match, but her thoughts lingered on the aftermath of Naruto's meltdown. She sighed, remembering how they both once shared time training in the Academy. "I hope the rest of these matches don't end the way that one did," she murmured.

Kiba gently patted her shoulder. "Don't dwell on it too much. That fiasco overshadowed everything, yeah, but we can't change it now. Let's just hope we find out how Neji's holding up soon."

"Neji…" Hinata repeated softly. She recalled how that confrontation ended—Neji unconscious, carried off. "I heard they took him straight to the medical ward. My father apparently went to check on him. But no visitors allowed yet."

Tenten overheard the mention of Neji and spoke up, brow furrowed. "Yeah, I'm worried too. But I was told the medics needed peace to treat him properly. Guy-sensei tried to accompany them, but they told him to wait. He and Lee are outside, I think, waiting for updates. They're pretty shocked. After all, they never expected a match to escalate to that point, or for it to end in a disqualification. And certainly not for Neji to be hospitalized with so many injuries."

A wave of subdued murmurs passed among them. They forced themselves to turn their attention back to the ring, though an undercurrent of concern for Neji remained. Right now, Shikamaru's match was the main spectacle.

Below, Shikamaru took a calm breath. With a quick flick of his wrist, he tossed several kunai, intentionally missing Temari by a wide margin. At first glance, it looked sloppy, but anyone who knew him suspected a cunning reason behind the apparent misthrow. Temari, suspicious, stepped sideways to avoid any possibility of a hidden line or second attack. The kunai clanked uselessly across the stone floor. The crowd murmured, somewhat disappointed at the lack of direct confrontation.

On the sidelines, Tenten narrowed her eyes. She was adept with projectiles and recognized when someone purposely threw wide. "He's up to something," she muttered. "Those angles can't be a coincidence. He might be setting up a path for his shadow to traverse or funneling her into a corner."

Kurenai hummed in agreement. "Yes, Shikamaru often does that. Every feint has a purpose, either to gather data or to manipulate an opponent's position. Keep watching."

Temari, eyes narrowed, recognized a trap forming but refused to let him take control. She hammered her fan into the ground, mustering a powerful gale that rippled across the arena. Dust billowed upward, and everyone coughed as grit assaulted their eyes. Shikamaru shielded his face with one arm, forced to shift sideways. The blowback from that fan was no joke.

"Not too shabby," he called, voice dry. "But I've got some patience, you know. This is only going to get more troublesome."

He extended his shadow carefully, letting it snake across the floor. The problem was distance. The arena's breadth gave Temari ample room to keep her range. She easily sidestepped the creeping darkness, keeping to safe spots. Shikamaru grumbled, calculating how to lengthen his jutsu. Meanwhile, the setting sun cast longer shadows, an advantage for him if he stalled long enough.

As time ticked by, the crowd grew antsy. A few booed, expecting more explosive action. Others recognized the slow burn of a strategic face-off. For them, anticipation built, imagining how the cat-and-mouse game might end.

Ino leaned forward, her voice tight with excitement. "He's waiting for her to fall into that trap. She doesn't realize she's inching toward that crater on the arena's side, or maybe the piles of debris from that fiasco. Shikamaru's going to pounce the moment she corners herself."

Choji nodded. "He's good at funneling an opponent. I've seen him do it to countless training partners. The big question is whether she'll notice in time."

Temari kept swinging that fan, launching periodic gusts. Shikamaru utilized debris for cover, ensuring he never took a direct hit. He waited, mindful of angles. At last, he noticed the sun's angle shifting enough to widen the expanse of shade near a partially destroyed section of the stadium. Perfect. He inhaled, bracing for the final maneuver.

"Let's see how you like this," he muttered, throwing a second round of kunai. This time, each spin was precisely measured. Temari hopped away to avoid them, inadvertently stepping deeper into a dim area near the broken wall.

Suddenly, Shikamaru's shadow shot forward, blending with the darkness of the environment. Temari, realization dawning, tried to leap free. Too late. She felt a snare on her ankles—the creeping shadow caught her. The crowd erupted in shouts of astonishment.

Temari struggled, but her arms froze in place as Shikamaru's jutsu forced her to mirror his movements. He raised one hand, and she was forced to do the same. "Checkmate," he declared, though his voice lacked glee, sounding more fatigued than anything else.

"Impossible," she hissed, glaring at him. "Where did you get enough range?"

He jerked a thumb at the half-collapsed wall behind her. "Took advantage of that leftover crater from the last meltdown. All the new shading plus my original plan made for an extended zone. I just had to corral you step by step. You did half the work for me."

She gritted her teeth. "So you're going to finish me off? Or am I supposed to yield?"

He was silent for a heartbeat. Then, in a move that dumbfounded the audience, Shikamaru released a long exhale and declared, "I forfeit."

A stunned hush descended, replaced moments later by an eruption of bewildered cries. Many in the stands shot to their feet, demanding an explanation. He had, by all logic, practically won. Why give up now?

In the front rows, Ino let out a shriek. "No way! He can't—he's right there with her pinned! What the heck, Shikamaru?"

Choji peeled his eyes from the scene, biting into another chip with equal confusion. "I… guess he thinks continuing isn't worth the trouble. That's how he is."

Kurenai shook her head, while Asuma closed his eyes as though he'd expected no less. "That's Shikamaru for you," Asuma muttered. "He probably concluded there wasn't enough left in him to handle future rounds effectively, or he simply decided he'd proven his point. He never cared about the outcome in the first place."

From her vantage, Tenten found it bizarre. "He spent all that effort to corner her, then just… quits?"

Iruka, thoughtful as ever, concluded, "This exam tests more than physical prowess. He's displayed leadership, intelligence, and discipline. Despite forfeiting, he's shown some critical qualities. Some might see it as laziness or overcautiousness, but it's definitely revealing of his state of mind."

Temari, thoroughly taken aback, could only remain in place as the shadow receded. Freed from his jutsu, she whipped around to glare at him. "What…was that about?"

He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. "Too much trouble continuing. Let's call it a day." Then he ambled away as though nothing of importance had occurred.

The proctor, after ensuring Temari was truly unrestrained, cleared his throat. "Winner: Temari."

A mixture of applause, laughter, and exasperated groans followed. The tension from the fiasco earlier lingered, but people found themselves momentarily entertained by the Nara's baffling choice. Some recognized the brilliance behind his strategies; others labeled him a fool for letting the chance slip away.

Back in the stands, Ino threw up her arms in frustration. "That idiot! He had everything under control."

Choji smirked. "But that's Shikamaru. It's how he's always been. He doesn't actually want anything beyond a quiet life. If victory complicates that, he opts out."

Kiba scowled. "Still, he could've at least tried to move on, especially with those two out of the exam from earlier. He might've had a shot at the finals."

Hinata fiddled with the hem of her jacket. She was half-lost in thoughts of Neji, partially relieved to see a match end without violence or outbursts. "At least no one got hurt badly this time," she said softly. "That's something."

Iruka patted her shoulder. "Yes, maybe the mood will settle now. No more fiascos, we hope."

Meanwhile, the Hokage and the Kazekage exchanged polite nods. From their vantage, the entire scene played out clearly. The Kazekage's voice carried a note of satisfaction. "Your Nara showed remarkable resourcefulness, even if he forfeited. As for Temari, I suppose a victory is a victory."

The Hokage sighed. "It was a demonstration of tactician-level intelligence, which is key for a squad leader. If nothing else, we gleaned that from this. If only the earlier match had ended as peacefully."

"Yes," the Kazekage agreed, "the unfortunate display from before overshadowed so much. Let's hope the rest of the event remains calm."

Off to the side, Jiraiya—who had reappeared in the stands after conferring with a few exam officials—observed the crowd's reactions. He recognized Shikamaru's brilliance but found himself distracted by the lingering tension in the stadium, the hush that never fully vanished since that blowup. "It's a quiet exam from here on out, I hope," he muttered. Then he shook his head. "Still, something's in the air. Let's not drop our guard."

As for the immediate future, the proctor called for a brief intermission. Workers scuttled out to clear the debris of wind-blown dust. Shikamaru left the arena, passing a few unimpressed medics who politely asked if he needed care. He waved them off, claiming only mental exhaustion. Temari, meanwhile, marched off in annoyance, fan tossed over her shoulder, uncertain how to feel about her bizarre victory.

In the audience, Tenten inhaled a slow breath. "At least that match ended without another meltdown." She glanced sideways to see Guy and Lee descending into the spectator seats, both wearing anxious expressions.

Seeing them approach, Kiba nudged Hinata. "Guy-sensei and Lee are here. They must want news on Neji. Should we fill them in?"

They didn't need to ask. The pair had already overheard scattered remarks about the fiasco. Guy's voice trembled slightly. "Someone said Neji was badly hurt? We can't see him yet, is that true?"

Tenten stood, bowing her head. "Yes, sensei. They took him to the medical ward. I tried to follow, but they refused. They said no visitors until the doctors are sure of his condition. And apparently, Hiashi-sama is there to see him."

Lee, resting on a crutch, wore an agonized look. "To think Neji ended up like that. I didn't see the match, but I caught glimpses of the arena's destruction. Did…did it really come down to that final strike, or was there more?"

Ino and Choji exchanged glances, unsure how much detail to provide. Eventually, Iruka gently explained that a heated confrontation occurred, certain triggers were pulled, and events spiraled. The final blow was particularly savage, but the subsequent chain-lashing moment overshadowed everything. "And then the disqualification sealed the outcome," Iruka finished quietly.

Guy's eyes widened. "This is more severe than I imagined. I only wish we'd arrived sooner, perhaps to defuse the situation. Poor Neji."

Lee nodded tearfully. "Neji is…someone I always wanted to surpass. Now I'm terrified for him. This entire day is overshadowed by the gloom from that fiasco and the injuries. I only pray he recovers quickly."

"We'll know soon," Tenten offered. "For now, we just have to wait and hope the medics do their job."

The group fell silent, each grappling with a swirl of emotions. The few watchers around them carried on, dissecting the Shikamaru-Temari match, while never quite letting go of the disquiet from earlier. For a moment, no one spoke. The entire stadium felt in limbo, awaiting new developments, be it from the medical ward or the next scheduled battle.

Eventually, the proctor's voice cut through the hush, directing the audience's attention to the far side of the arena. A new pair of contestants was called forth. The exam had to continue, ignoring the lingering trauma. The crowd rose, some cheering halfheartedly, others simply curious.

As the participants made their way to the center, a subdued hush fell over the stands again. Kurenai and Asuma readied themselves to observe. Ino and Choji watched quietly, though neither displayed the previous enthusiasm they had shown at the exam's start. Kiba tapped his foot, forcing his gaze to remain on the ring, rather than glancing anxiously at the medical corridor. Shino maintained his usual stoic facade, though an air of frustration emanated from him. Tenten hovered near Guy and Lee, mindful of their worry for Neji.

Iruka, hands clasped behind his back, whispered to Hinata, "Perhaps after the next match, you can slip by the medical ward and see if they'll let you check on him. You're family, even if extended. They might allow it."

Hinata swallowed, nodding. "I might. But I fear facing him…or what shape he's in. And all that talk of… never mind. I just hope he's stable."

From overhead, the sun continued its descent. The second match had ended, the third about to begin, yet the memory of the earlier meltdown and disqualification lingered. People in the stands traded rumors about how it might affect the exam's final results, or whether the judges would allow any retractions. Some claimed the participant's meltdown had undone all good will, that he'd never be welcomed again. Others speculated a behind-the-scenes arrangement might lighten punishment. Many felt outraged, wanting a scapegoat for the tension. A few, ironically, felt pity, suspecting some deeper vendetta or tragic background fueled that rage.

Whatever the truth, the day's contests proceeded. The Hokage, from his vantage, wore a serious expression, evidently weighed by the responsibilities of protecting the village's reputation and upholding justice. The Kazekage, for his part, watched calmly, occasionally exchanging neutral remarks with the Hokage about these latest developments. Jiraiya hovered behind them, arms folded, scanning the crowd's mood with a cautious eye.

Below, the newly called competitors faced the proctor. The hush grew as the proctor repeated the standard rules, then signaled them to begin. It felt like everyone was willing the exam to progress without further drama. The silence reigned for a heartbeat, then the two combatants clashed, drawing cheers and gasps from the stands.

In the midst of the spectacle, Asuma turned to Kurenai, speaking quietly so as not to distract others. "Heard any updates from the ones in charge about changes, given that fiasco earlier?"

Kurenai shook her head. "No, nothing official. Possibly they'll let the exam continue mostly unchanged. That's how it usually goes. They can't just halt everything because of one meltdown."

Iruka, eavesdropping, added, "They might also consider awarding a field promotion if someone showed real leadership—like Shikamaru, ironically. That's if the Hokage sees fit."

"Shikamaru," Ino repeated. "That lazy bum."

Choji nodded. "Hard to believe, but he's got the qualities. Let's just see how it all wraps up. Another match is underway, and there's more to come." He glanced around, noticing a handful of nin from other villages quietly conversing about what had transpired. "At least there's no sign of further trouble. Let's keep it that way."

Meanwhile, a short distance away, Tenten and Hinata shared a private conversation about heading to the medical ward once a break arrived. If Neji was conscious or stable, they hoped to hear from him, glean some sense of his recovery. Lee would likely accompany them—Guy too, if permitted.

The new match wore on, filling the arena with the echo of clashing steel, bursts of jutsu, and roars from the onlookers. Slowly, tensions eased as focus pivoted to the immediate fight. The sting from the previous meltdown remained, but human nature fixated on the present spectacle. People cheered at cunning moves or near misses, momentarily forgetting the gloom.

Yet for the watchers who had known Naruto or Neji more personally, the undercurrent never fully dissipated. The day had taken a somber turn early on, and though attempts were made to salvage the atmosphere, a shadow lingered. Possibly, no matter how the exam concluded, the village would remain divided in opinion about the shoe-shining revelation, that violent outburst, and the disqualification that ended a promising career.

At the top of the stands, the Hokage's eyes narrowed faintly, as though he sensed some intangible tension beneath the arena's normal thrumming. The Kazekage, arms hidden within his robes, gazed outward with patient detachment, presumably content to see how the remaining battles would unfold. Jiraiya's stance remained guarded. He seemed prepared for anything, especially after so many unexpected twists.

Kiba, sniffing the air, muttered, "I can't shake this feeling something else might blow up. It's too quiet, ironically."

Shino responded, "Possibly nerves from everything that's already happened."

When Kankuro heard his name echo through the arena for the next match, he froze, feeling tension coil in his stomach. His puppeteer instincts told him that revealing Crow's concealed mechanisms now would jeopardize the larger scheme. Exhaling slowly, he weighed his choices. My fight doesn't matter much, he thought, eyes darting to the siblings waiting across the platform. No sense showing my trump cards. Besides, if I happen to win, I might have to face Gaara, and that's out of the question. He cast a sidelong glance at someone near him, searching for confirmation. With a subtle nod from that individual, Kankuro reached his conclusion.

The moment Shino prepared to descend into the arena, Kankuro abruptly raised his voice. "Hey, Examiner," he called, addressing Genma's direction, "I forfeit." A ripple of confusion burst across the stands as soon as Kankuro's words registered. Shino paused mid-step, turning toward him with obvious surprise. Even Genma blinked, brow furrowed at the abrupt shift. The audience erupted into a low rumble of discontent, unsure how to react to yet another twist in the finals.

From the opposite side, various individuals watched this with narrowed eyes. One figure in particular frowned, wondering aloud, "What is going on? Why would he just forfeit now?" The atmosphere in the arena felt strained, as numerous watchers had expected a direct contest. Instead, they got yet another anticlimax, which fanned the crowd's frustration further. In the hush, Genma finally spoke up in an official capacity. "If Kankuro of the Sand forfeits, then by default, Aburame Shino of the Leaf is declared the winner."

Cheers did not follow Genma's announcement, only scattered boos and confused murmurs. It was evident that most spectators disliked these back-to-back anticlimactic developments. Shino, for his part, lowered his gaze as though pondering the rationale behind Kankuro's decision. He had trained diligently for a real battle, but the match evaporated before it began.

High up in a special viewing area, watchers leaned forward. One of them muttered, "Something about Kankuro's choice to withdraw stinks of hidden motives." Such sentiments echoed among various seats, fueling suspicion that the puppet user's retreat was less about personal reasons and more about the next phase of a bigger plot. The Hokage himself wore a deep frown, arms crossed, scanning the participants below with rapt focus.

The Kazekage, meanwhile, observed silently. He projected a calm aura, but those who studied him closely suspected that Kankuro's forfeiture was no random whim. The environment was thick with tension, as people recalled the presence of certain unusual participants from the Sand, including that mysterious Gaara figure. Whispers abounded about an elaborate plan in motion, though official voices refrained from confirming it.

Shino eventually turned away, heading back to the standby area. Genma raised his voice to quell the muttering crowd. "Listen up. The match is ended. The victory goes to Aburame Shino." Yet the wave of disapproval from the stands refused to settle, overshadowed by accusations that the final stage was a letdown. No matter how Genma tried to calm them, the audience's dissatisfaction lingered. Their excitement for an epic confrontation was crushed by one participant's abrupt concession.

Onlookers chatted among themselves, remarking how the finals had degenerated into a series of no-shows and forfeits. "First that fiasco happened," someone groused, referencing earlier controversies. "Now we have one more incomplete match. This exam's a joke!" Another responded, "Could be they're waiting to unleash something bigger. Or maybe it's all just rotten luck." The voices merged into a cacophony of speculation and complaint. Genma, ignoring the rowdiness, decided to move on.

Behind the scenes, certain watchers shared murmurs of mistrust. "Kankuro might be preserving energy or hiding his puppet's features," one observer hypothesized. Another suspected that if he won, he risked a future clash with Gaara, which he clearly wanted to avoid for personal reasons. "A puppet user stands no chance against that monstrous Sand technique we've heard about," said a figure quietly to a comrade, both wearing Chunin uniforms. They recognized the complexities of clan-based powers, so Kankuro's rationale seemed plausible enough, though it hardly explained everything.

Off to one side, Asuma, Kurenai, and others frowned among themselves. Displeased by the match's abrupt end, they exchanged knowing looks. "Something about this doesn't add up," Asuma commented under his breath, scanning the stands for signs of hidden agendas. Kurenai nodded, a thoughtful cast to her features. "They're up to something—this is consistent with the suspicious vibe swirling around the entire event," she replied softly. People around them, also mindful of tension, leaned in to catch the faint conversation, but no direct answers emerged.

Elsewhere, the matter of an Oto Genin's mysterious demise circulated among the village's rumor mill, fueling conspiratorial whispers that Suna's envoy played a role. The presence of certain dangerous individuals in the exam had left the authorities on high alert. Consequently, Kankuro's stunt might be a piece of a larger puzzle. Or so the watchers surmised. The Hokage's expression, from a vantage point in the central box, remained stern. He cast a sidelong glance at the Kazekage, who said little, mouth set in a near-invisible smile.

The tension soared higher when Genma steeled himself to announce the next match. He scrolled through the roster, confirming which pair was to battle after Kankuro and Shino's anticlimax. The name Gaara inevitably surfaced, but there remained the matter of another competitor who was absent. Word soon spread that the next match was automatically decided because the Oto participant was deceased. The crowd's irritation mounted, a wave of audible disapproval emanating from the seats. Those who came for a spectacle grumbled that the day was a flop of upsets.

Observing the fiasco, a tall figure in the stands slammed a palm on a railing in frustration. "They canceled another fight! This is ridiculous." Several nodded in agreement. More individuals joined in, outraged that a once-anticipated final was dissolving into hasty forfeits, no-shows, or automatic victories. The tension pressed on everyone present, itching for genuine excitement.

"Gaara wins by default," Genma eventually proclaimed, ignoring the crowd's outcry. "That means we move ahead to the next scheduled match." The sense of letdown in the arena soared to near chaos, though no riot formed outright. The audience members withheld open fury, aware that the Hokage's watchers might intervene if they crossed a line. Still, their dissatisfaction remained a palpable force.

The Hokage exchanged words with the Kazekage about these repeated anticlimaxes. Their conversation, though hidden from the general onlookers, stirred suspicion from watchers who perceived an uneasy climate. "This exam is shaping into a fiasco," someone in the stands mumbled, crossing arms over a flak vest. "We keep expecting real contests, but keep getting cheap outcomes." Another Shinobi next to him responded, "The Hokage and the Kazekage must be vexed, yet they can't break protocol and forcibly make the participants fight if they refuse."

Naruto sat on a plain wooden bench in a cramped, windowless room deep within the arena's sprawling structure. An overhead lamp cast a tired glow across concrete walls, lending the space a grim, featureless ambiance. Standing a few paces away, an emotionless Anbu operative in a catlike mask kept silent vigil, arms folded. Though the sound of distant cheers and roaring crowds seeped in through the heavy door, Naruto felt an overwhelming sense of suffocation. His disqualification had pulled him from the spotlight into this claustrophobic holding cell. The exam's final matches were still ongoing, and he was confined here, waiting—always waiting—for the fateful signal.

Inside his mindscape, two presences stirred—his Otsutsuki parents' chakra imprints. He had grown accustomed to sensing them as gentle murmurs in the back of his consciousness, occasionally offering guidance or chastisement. Now, their voices emerged more prominently, each taking a different tone.
"You let anger dictate your actions, my son," chided his father's deep baritone, resonating across the mental plane. "Impulsiveness cost you. Your power is formidable, yes, but brandishing it in blind fury is beneath our lineage."
Naruto clenched his fists. Impulsive, yeah, that's me. But you think I wanted this fiasco? I— He broke the thought off, unwilling to finish.

His mother's voice followed, softer yet disappointed. "We taught you composure and cunning. Yet you lost it the moment he slung that shoe-shiner taunt at you. You knew he wanted to rattle you. Yet you indulged him."
Naruto exhaled, scowling at the damp floor. That blasted name, Hiro, from the time I scrounged for coin by polishing shoes—why did it have to be said so publicly? He recalled how the crowd turned on him, curses and jeers erupting once they pieced the truth together. Only a few shinobi had suspected the extent of that secret. He'd always dreaded the day it got out like this.

A wave of regret coursed through him. He pictured the apartment building he'd painstakingly purchased with the meager funds from those shoe-shining years, disguised under illusions and proxies. I bet those tenants are trashing the place right now, he thought bitterly. They'll burn it to the ground, given the fury in their eyes. He wanted to believe they'd just vacate in disgust, but the memory of the audience's venom made him suspect a harsher outcome. All those years scrimping to invest… probably worthless now. The idea stung more than he cared to admit.

He shifted his gaze to the Anbu operative, who stood motionless against the wall. Beneath that mask might lurk pity, or contempt, or simple boredom. Naruto couldn't read it. It's almost funny, he reflected, This is what I get: locked up, a glorified guard babysitting me. The old man—the Hokage—hadn't even had time to pass judgment beyond endorsing the disqualification. Danzo would undoubtedly hear soon, if he hadn't already. Naruto scoffed inwardly at the notion. He'll go ballistic. Maybe he'll throw me out of Root entirely. A faint smirk tugged at Naruto's lips as he recalled that unintentional rhyme: "the boot from Root."

His father's mental voice returned, pulsing with mild annoyance. "Focus, Naruto. Idle fantasies of defiance do you little good now. Think of how you'll salvage this situation. We can't have you losing your path because of one rage-fueled slip."
Naruto ground his teeth. Salvage, huh? Not sure there's anything to salvage. One hand unconsciously rose to touch his forehead protector—except it wasn't there. Jiraiya had taken it away as a symbolic punishment, leaving him to stew in his mistakes. Anger simmered at the memory, but he forced it down, unwilling to repeat the same misstep.

Then came the matter of Danzo's Sharingan. Naruto had long suspected that Danzo possessed a hidden eye under those bandages, gleaning evidence from half-caught conversations, rumors among Root operatives, and the subtle hush in Danzo's presence. He probably thinks I'm clueless, Naruto mused with grim humor. But I've known for a while he hoards a stolen Sharingan. Now that I messed up, maybe he'll put me under some genjutsu, rewire my brain, or wipe memories to keep me pliant. The idea of having his mind forcibly shaped sent a chill down his spine. But he refused to show fear. He'd come too far to cower now.

He caught himself tapping a foot on the cold floor. The Anbu gave him a sidelong glance. Naruto scowled, forcing stillness. Inside, his mother's tone rose, half-consoling, half-admonishing. "You mustn't rely on them to show mercy. Danzo's known for drastic measures. Are you prepared to face him?"
Prepared as I'll ever be. Not like I have a choice, Naruto retorted in his head. He either discards me or tries rewriting me. I'll handle whichever comes first. He pushed the thought aside—no use dwelling. For now, he'd watch for an opening. The moment the invasion started, he had plans of his own.

His mind circled back to Hinata. That quiet expression on her face, the sorrow in her eyes every time she watched violence erupt. She definitely saw me snap at Neji, he considered. She must be appalled. But then, what had Hinata expected? He'd fought in these exams for reasons beyond pride, trying to secure a future free from overshadowing illusions. Did he truly care if she judged him harshly? He'd once saved her from becoming Kumo's captive—an act that flung him into the Hyuga family's complicated grudges. In a sense, everything with Neji traced back to that fiasco. I'd do it again, he told himself, even if it ended in this same disaster.

Still, a faint pang of guilt flickered. His father's imprint noted it. "Regret stirs in you, yes? You do care, even if you deny it."
Naruto bristled. Let her think what she wants. If she despises me for that final chain strike, so be it. She'd be ungrateful after I put my neck on the line for her years ago. The swirl of bitterness surprised even him. But the day's events had left him raw, prone to scorn. Right now, he nursed an odd resentment toward everyone who once treated him kindly only to recoil upon learning the "demon child" had polished their shoes in disguise.

He forced a slow exhale. Dwelling on hypotheticals with Hinata or the crowd wouldn't improve matters. The threat of the imminent invasion loomed large. Orochimaru and Danzo's secret deal, the planned havoc—it all hung like a storm cloud. He was supposed to stand aside, let the Hokage face a deadly confrontation, focus on containing the rampaging beast that Suna might unleash. That was the plan, anyway, until his meltdown. But I guess they'll still want me to hold up my end, disqualification or not. Jiraiya's final words hammered that point home: "Be ready when the time comes," he'd said, even as he tore away Naruto's headband.

Now, thoughts of his teammate flitted to mind: Sayuri. The moody rival with her own burdens, cursed seal and all. Was she here yet? Did Kakashi's perpetually tardy self bring her back from training in time for her match? He felt a twist of anxiety. She's up against Gaara, if the bracket stands. Gaara… that red-haired Suna jinchuriki rumored to be unstoppable. Tension coiled in Naruto's gut, remembering how he sensed Gaara's monstrous presence. He dreaded losing another teammate—Sakura was already gone, murdered in the Forest of Death by Orochimaru, leaving a scar that refused to fade.

A pang of sorrow welled up. Sakura… I couldn't protect her. Couldn't even get there in time. That regret gnawed at him. He pictured her bright smile, her exasperated scolding whenever he did something reckless. Now she was gone, leaving only memories. He clenched his jaw. I won't let that happen to Sayuri. Even if I'm locked away, I'll find a way out to watch her back. Determination flared, though overshadowed by grim acceptance: his future hinged on the invasion's timing. One glimpse of chaos out there, and he'd break free, no matter what it took.

He glared at the dull overhead lamp, half-wishing an alarm or signal would ring out, giving him an excuse to act. Until then, he had to feign compliance. The Anbu guard, stoic as ever, showed no sign of suspecting Naruto's deep internal monologue or readiness to explode into movement. He thinks I've given up or am too rattled by the fiasco to try anything. Naruto tried not to smirk. He's in for a shock. Beneath the bitterness and guilt, a cunning resolve took shape. If he stayed put, he'd be worthless once the real threat arrived. He had to slip out.

His father's mental voice again. "Careful, child. Don't let your thirst for redemption overshadow logic. You must time your break precisely."
His mother's imprint added, "But do break free eventually. You can't fulfill your obligations locked behind bars."
Naruto clenched and unclenched his fingers, testing them for any sign of leftover rage. I'll keep it controlled this time, he reassured them silently. No more foolish outbursts. Indeed, he'd focus solely on the infiltration's signal, then spring into action. With luck, he'd vanish amid the confusion, help with the One-Tail's rampage, and ensure no more allies perished on his watch.

Time felt slow. The stale air weighed heavily, and the muffled roars from the arena beyond teased him, reminding him that the exam carried on without him. He snorted at the irony: so many had once predicted he'd shine in these finals, possibly triumph. Instead, his meltdown overshadowed whatever potential glory he might have claimed. The village would now brand him a savage threat, shoe shiner or demon child, whichever stoked more fear. "Let them," he whispered under his breath, voice so low the Anbu guard didn't stir. Let them see I have no illusions about acceptance anymore. He told himself that, ignoring the faint ache in his chest.

He pictured the building he'd poured so much of his secret earnings into. The structure was aging, needing renovations. Despite that, it had become his quiet triumph, a testament to cunning and perseverance. Tenants paid rent unaware their landlord was that scorned outcast. Now that the truth was out, they'd likely band together, set the place on fire, or ransack it in fury. Naruto felt a flicker of heartbreak. All that work… undone. Another casualty of his reckless outburst. But there was no reversing time. He forced himself to accept it. Guess I'll have to rebuild from scratch if I survive today.

A sudden hush fell outside the door. The faint shouting of the arena's crowd paused, replaced by uncertain murmurs. Naruto's ears pricked. Could it be the invasion's spark? The Anbu operative tilted his masked head, evidently noticing the shift in atmosphere. Naruto's heart rate quickened. Is this it? Are they attacking now? He rose from the bench, limbs tense. The Anbu took a step forward, raising a hand as if warning him not to try anything. Naruto breathed deeply, bracing for an alarm or an explosion—some sign of Orochimaru's plan unraveling. But the hush seemed fleeting, replaced by a fresh swell of cheers. Possibly another intense match. The tension bled away again.

Naruto exhaled, frustration creeping back. Not yet. Just a false start. He eased himself back onto the bench, adopting a bored posture to lull the Anbu into complacency. Meanwhile, he continued the mental conversation with his parents. Mother, Father… you both keep urging me to remain calm. But I'm stuck waiting for a signal that might come too late. His mother's voice answered gently, "Impatience births rash mistakes. You've seen that. Focus on controlling your inner turmoil. Save your strength for the real fight."
He nodded, albeit grudgingly. She was right. The best he could do was keep vigilant and await the inevitable storm.

Minutes dragged into an eternity. Naruto nearly dozed off, stirring only when faint reverberations hinted at the next match's climax. The Anbu guard shifted position once or twice, glancing at the door as though anticipating an order from higher-ups. Naruto guessed the Hokage was out there, monitoring the final exam matches, waiting for Orochimaru's trap to spring. A bitter smile curled Naruto's lips. Maybe after all that drama, they fear I'll lash out again. Or they might want me locked away so I won't cause further embarrassment.

He closed his eyes. A swirl of half-formed images: Danzo's scowl once he learned of Naruto's meltdown, the possible genjutsu infiltration of Naruto's mind. The thought made him shudder. No. I can't let that happen, he decided. If it came to that, he'd run. Where to, he had no clue—perhaps beyond the village, ironically forced into the same category as rogue shinobi. The father imprint spoke firmly: "You must be prepared to fight illusions with illusions. Remember the training we bestowed upon you. Genjutsu can be countered by the Byakugan if you summon its essence from your Otsutsuki form."
Naruto swallowed. I know. It's not a trick I wanted to reveal, but if push comes to shove…

He wondered if the uproar over the shoe-shining fiasco might hamper Danzo's plans. Perhaps the old warhawk would let him go if the scandal became too much trouble. Though it's more likely he'll see me as an unstable asset, ripe for mental reprogramming. Naruto forced down a surge of anger. He needed a plan, not more emotional outbursts. With invasion on the horizon, the entire village was about to be a warzone anyway. Freed from these walls or not, it might make little difference if Suna unleashed their dreaded weapon. Focus, he reminded himself. The second the infiltration starts, I'm out of here.

Another spasm of guilt sparked when he recalled how the audience rained down insults and even shoes in that final moment. Some acquaintances had shaken their heads in disappointment. People I thought might stand by me just stepped away. It stung deeper than he cared to admit. "I'm no hero. Let them see that," he murmured. "I'm done chasing their approval." His father's mental sigh reverberated. "Don't lie to yourself. You want acceptance, but let your anger overshadow it. Tread carefully." Naruto raked a hand through his hair, internally conceding the point. Maybe I do. But that dream is gone now.

Another wave of worry for Sayuri rippled through him. If Kakashi's late again, she might be forced to face Gaara with no one in her corner. He pictured her leaning on that cursed seal, potentially harming herself. The memory of losing Sakura still haunted him. The thought of seeing yet another comrade cut down twisted his stomach. He clenched the bench's edge so hard the wood groaned. No, I can't stand by. Invasion or not, if her match is about to start, I have to see it. He risked glancing at the Anbu. The stoic guard refused to budge.

Naruto breathed carefully, eyeing the guard's posture. If he timed it right, a sudden move could overwhelm the operative before they could form a reaction. Their vantage was close, but Naruto's reflexes honed in Root training were formidable. He'd slip behind the guard, land a precise strike on a vital nerve in the neck, rendering them unconscious. The father imprint, calm yet proud, whispered, "Yes, that method would work, if you remain level-headed." The mother imprint cautioned, "But only do it if you truly need to." Naruto decided. Yes. Enough waiting.

He scanned the room for potential obstacles: a single wooden bench, a bare overhead lamp, a locked iron door, and the Anbu operative stationed near it. There were no apparent traps. The lamp's chain might serve as a minor distraction, but it was unnecessary. Naruto smoothed his black tracksuit, noticing the Uzumaki emblem on his shoulders and back. That symbol once gave him pride, a tribute to heritage. Now it felt weighed down by the day's fiasco. But he steeled himself. I might as well do something. I owe it to myself to get out. If nothing else, to keep an eye on what's happening.

He stood slowly. The Anbu tensed. "Sit," commanded a muffled voice from behind the mask. Naruto didn't respond verbally. Instead, he let his posture slump, as though reluctant compliance. Then, in a lightning burst of motion, he sprang forward. The Anbu lurched in surprise—too late. Naruto's left hand knocked aside the guard's feeble attempt to raise a short blade. His right hand struck a precise nerve cluster at the base of the mask. The guard froze, body paralyzed momentarily. Naruto followed with an elbow to the temple. The masked figure collapsed heavily to the floor, unconscious.

Panting slightly, Naruto glanced at the inert body. Done, he thought, satisfaction mixing with an undertow of guilt. Even if they were just doing their job, he had no choice. "Sorry," he whispered, crouching to check the Anbu's pulse, ensuring they were only out cold. Satisfied, he rose, rubbing the sweat from his brow. Guess that's that. The mother imprint made a small disapproving noise, but offered no argument. The father imprint quietly acknowledged the necessity. "Go, but be discreet." Naruto nodded, stepping toward the locked door.

He paused for a second, mind swirling with new uncertainties. What if the invasion doesn't start soon? If I slip out prematurely, I could be recaptured, or cause more suspicion. But he was done waiting. He rationalized that if the next match was nearing completion—possibly Sayuri's match—he couldn't stand idle. He wouldn't lose another comrade. With a grunt, he forced the door's bolt with a practiced jerk. The lock snapped. He eased the door open, scanning the corridor. It was mostly deserted, only faint echoes from distant hallways. Good. I can find vantage points above the arena or an exit leading outside.

He cast one last glance at the prone Anbu, exhaling a breath laced with regret. Then he steeled himself, stepping into the dim corridor. His senses flared, half expecting a second guard. None appeared. Time to move, he told himself, forging ahead. Inside, the swirling presence of his Otsutsuki parents pressed him to remain careful. This was just the beginning of the day's true chaos. The meltdown, the shoe-shiner revelation, all overshadowed by the impending assault. Naruto braced himself. In one fluid motion, he slipped around a corner, vanishing into the labyrinthine halls with silent resolve. Thus, his forced detention ended—and the real storm began.

High above the arena, at a section designated for distinguished guests, the Hokage stood with careful poise, gazing down at the tumult unfolding below. The air felt thick with anticipation. Onlookers in the stands clamored restlessly, and the low hum of their impatience drifted upward. The hour for the next match had nearly passed, yet one of the finalists—Sayuri—remained conspicuously absent.

Nearby, a Tokubetsu Jōnin named Raidō bowed respectfully. He carried news of the ongoing search for the elusive Uchiha heiress. "Has there been any sign of Sayuri?" the Hokage asked quietly, not lifting his gaze from the arena.

"I'm afraid not, Hokage-sama," Raidō replied, voice subdued. This stark confirmation made the older man's shoulders tense. If Sayuri had truly gone missing, the ramifications were considerable. The crowd below began shouting demands for the next spectacle to commence.

The Hokage exhaled, preparing to issue a firm order—likely to forfeit Sayuri's place in the finals—when the Kazekage, standing a short distance away, spoke calmly. "Let us grant her ten more minutes."

Raidō paused, and the Hokage turned to the Kazekage with a measured expression. "Ten minutes?"

The Kazekage inclined his head. His tone remained unruffled, though his eyes reflected unwavering intent. "Many of the spectators, including numerous officials, have waited specifically to see the last Uchiha fight. Canceling now, without even a marginal extension, would be cruel. Don't you believe the crowd deserves patience?"

A subdued murmur rolled through the special guests' seating area; tension pressed against the quiet. From below, the stadium roared with new hollers, demanding either the match or some sort of resolution.

The Hokage, though uneasy, recognized the precarious situation. Official visitors from various realms expected a thorough display of each prominent candidate's abilities. If the final Uchiha heir was disqualified too hastily, the audience's dissatisfaction might escalate. He frowned inwardly, reflecting on the strange behavior of the Kazekage. Why is he, of all people, so invested in giving Sayuri extra time? It felt out of character, considering her clan had no direct ties to his own. Yet, for some reason, he'd already intervened once before to delay a different match.

An uncomfortable hush stretched as the Hokage weighed the implications. He heard distant calls from the stands: "Start the next battle!" "Bring us the Uchiha!" The tension congealed. After a moment, the Hokage nodded once, albeit reluctantly. "We cannot let the entire program stall for one person. However… out of respect for the guests, I will consider a brief extension."

He turned to Raidō, about to instruct him to finalize the forfeit anyway, but the Kazekage urged softly, "Hokage-sama, I ask for only ten minutes. If the Uchiha fails to appear then, we will accept any disqualification."

That quiet request made the Hokage hesitate. He cast his gaze downward, hearing the restlessness of the crowd pounding in his ears like a steady drum. Another portion of him recognized the potential backlash if they barred the famed Uchiha from fighting. "Very well," he relented at last. "Ten minutes is all."

Raidō nodded solemnly, prepared to relay the decision. He vanished in a blur of motion, heading down to inform the referee of the arrangement.

Throughout the exchange, the Hokage remained acutely aware of the Kazekage's presence. There's something about him that unsettles me, the elder thought, scrutinizing the man's composed stance. He has spoken out more than usual, pressing specifically for a showdown featuring Konoha's last Uchiha. Despite a flicker of curiosity, the Hokage stifled further questions.

Meanwhile, the din rose from the stands as people speculated. Many were upset that time was being wasted. Others clamored for the chance to witness a rumored genius who hadn't yet arrived. The tension thickened, overshadowing the entire stadium.

A few minutes crawled by, each second marked by a dissonant hush amid the surging crowd. Finally, a discreet swirl of leaves signaled Raidō's return. He landed on the same balcony as the Hokage and Kazekage, bowing. "It's done, Hokage-sama. The referee has been notified—Sayuri has exactly ten minutes to make an appearance, or the match is forfeit."

The Hokage made a faint sound of acknowledgment. "Thank you. That is all." Raidō withdrew.

Down below, the referee's voice projected across the arena, announcing the compromise: "Attention all spectators! Due to Uchiha Sayuri's absence, we will grant a ten-minute delay. Should she fail to appear once that time expires, she will be disqualified."

A wave of dissatisfaction rippled among the onlookers, some booing, others muttering complaints. Yet the official pronouncement appeared to quell the majority. At least a chance remained for the spectacle they desired.

The Hokage looked again at the Kazekage, who stood quietly, gloved hands resting near the railing. "You have strong faith in this match's importance, it seems," the elder ventured, adopting a mild tone. He expected a quick retort.

"I do," the Kazekage replied, expression masked by the sculpted covering over the lower half of his face. "I suspect many foreigners, in addition to local enthusiasts, have come purely for this. It would be a shame if their trip was wasted."

A neutral hum followed. The Hokage didn't press further. Instead, he let the tension settle as both men resumed their watch of the restless stadium.

From the vantage of many onlookers, frustration brewed. Some found the repeated scheduling mishaps suspicious—others dismissed it as the Uchiha's typical arrogance or disregard for timeliness. Groups of shinobi, each from different provinces, whispered theories among themselves, uncertain why the final Uchiha was absent or if something more sinister was afoot.

Likewise, certain Leaf shinobi, overshadowed by a sense of foreboding, exchanged concerned glances. In a corner, a group including Kurenai and Asuma frowned at the empty battlefield. "If Sayuri doesn't arrive soon, we'll never see what she's learned," Asuma muttered. "Shame. She was rumored to have improved drastically in a month's time."

"Indeed," Kurenai replied, scanning the arena. "Though lateness isn't something that bodes well for leadership potential."

Ino and Choji sat further down, each wearing matching expressions of puzzlement. "What's taking that Uchiha so long?" Ino griped, crossing her arms. "If she misses her match, she's toast."

Choji shrugged, stuffing a fresh handful of chips into his mouth. "Maybe something happened. Or maybe it's just typical Uchiha drama."

A short distance away, Shikamaru, who'd forfeited his own match earlier, leaned in a corner, eyes half-lidded. "How troublesome," he muttered. "We're stuck waiting for someone who might not even show."

Iruka, an Academy instructor present to observe the exams, glanced worriedly from one row to another, unsettled by the hush that had befallen the crowd. Nothing about this is normal, he thought, wishing quietly that the chaos would subside.

The Hokage quietly drummed his fingertips on the stone barrier in front of him, impatience creeping in. The minutes ticked away. If Sayuri truly didn't arrive, the show would carry on, but the tension among the guests might escalate further.

Eventually, the quiet around them broke when a faint swirl of air signaled the return of a hidden operative. The man approached the Hokage from behind, whispering an update. "Still no sign, Hokage-sama. Four minutes remain."

The Hokage gave a terse nod. "Understood." He suppressed a sigh. The entire day had felt plagued by mishaps. If only everything could proceed smoothly.

Without warning, the Kazekage turned slightly, glancing at him from the side. "Time is almost up," he said in a measured tone.

"Yes," was all the elder replied, not meeting the Kazekage's gaze. He suspected that the man was more excited about Sayuri's match than many from the Leaf itself. He may have an agenda. But what is it?

A hush had fallen once again, the audience's mood turning from restless to near-hostile. Occasional catcalls erupted, demanding an immediate disqualification. Others insisted on giving the last Uchiha every second promised. The tension smoldered, as if on the brink of an explosion.

In the stands, Kiba scowled, leaning forward on the railing. "If she doesn't show, we'll be stuck listening to more bored whining from the crowd." He was half-tempted to slip off for a nap.

Further away, Tenten frowned, arms folded. "We came to see how strong she'd gotten, but at this rate, we'll never know."

The Hokage glanced at his watch. The second hand ticked steadily. He steeled himself, preparing to announce the forfeit. If we must, we must.

From the corner of his eye, he noted the Kazekage's posture stiffen. Perhaps even that foreign leader realized the final seconds were truly slipping away. Another swirl of breeze touched the upper row, a leaf drifting aimlessly. No sign of her… This is it.

The crowd below had begun counting down in a sporadic chant, fueled by frustration. The referee in the arena, overshadowed by tension, exhaled audibly. No one's coming. He lifted his arm to signal the final gesture.

Up in the box, the Hokage squared his shoulders. "Enough," he murmured to himself. "We gave the time. It's over."

A sudden swirl of leaves erupted in the arena's center. Dust spiraled. The watchers jerked upright, voices capturing a collective gasp. When the flurry dispersed, there stood Hatake Kakashi, recognizable by his telltale masked face and silver hair, next to a figure with midnight locks and the proud insignia of the Uchiha clan upon her back: Sayuri had arrived.

The entire stadium erupted in an uproar. Cries of shock and excitement warred with jeers from those who felt the tardiness was inexcusable. The referee, eyes wide for a heartbeat, quickly reasserted composure.

Ino and Choji exchanged glances of astonishment. "She finally showed!" Ino exclaimed, half-relieved, half-frustrated.

Kiba let out a long breath, grumbling, "Cutting it ridiculously close, as always. Typical Uchiha drama indeed."

The Hokage felt his pulse slow, relief bleeding into faint exasperation. "So she made it." He suppressed the urge to scold her tardiness, mindful that the entire crowd was listening for Genma's next words.

Beside him, the Kazekage gave an unspoken nod, his tone unreadable as he quietly remarked, "It appears the final Uchiha has graced us with her presence after all."

A wave of conflicting excitement consumed the arena. The official scoreboard flickered, signifying that the next match would indeed happen. The hush that followed was electric. Everyone, from high nobles to everyday spectators, seemed to hold their breath, eager for the battle they had almost missed.

Genma surveyed Kakashi and Sayuri. He tapped his watch with a faint smirk. "Cutting it close, wouldn't you say?" The murmuring crowd fueled the moment's tension. "I almost declared the forfeit."

Kakashi gave a casual scratch to his head. "Apologies. We had some last-minute training." His tone suggested no regret. Meanwhile, Sayuri maintained her stoic expression, eyes scanning for her prospective opponent.

The stadium, teetering on the brink of chaos only seconds ago, now vibrated with anticipation. Though some watchers grumbled about the lateness, they quieted as the referee signaled the official start.

The Hokage observed the scene below, posture a mixture of relief and annoyance. Part of him wanted to lecture the tardy newcomer. Another part recognized that, for the sake of the exam's spectacle, at least the fight might proceed. "We will see how she fares," he said softly, though he wondered if the short reprieve might compromise the exam's fairness.

He flicked a glance at the Kazekage, who watched the arena with laser focus. Why is he so fixated on this match? the Hokage questioned again. Yet he kept those suspicions close, aware that the day's next events might unravel far more mysteries.

Excitement, frustration, and wariness converged in every corner of the stadium. The crowd's roars erupted anew, an odd blend of cheers and residual exasperation at nearly having lost this fight. The crackling atmosphere signaled that the next phase of the finals was about to commence—and with the Uchiha's arrival, no one could guess how the tides might turn.

Naruto raced through the cramped, debris-strewn corridors beneath the arena, heart hammering in his chest. He'd just escaped confinement in a holding chamber, dispatching an inattentive ANBU guard in the process. Now, as chaos threatened to engulf the Leaf Village from all sides, he knew every passing second mattered. The distant roar of conflict pounded in his ears, spurring him onward. Though his pulse throbbed, and sweat stung his eyes, he refused to slow—Sayuri was somewhere out there, possibly facing that monstrous One Tail, and he couldn't let another teammate end up like Sakura, lost forever in the carnage of Orochimaru's manipulations.

In the dim light of emergency lanterns, his surroundings felt claustrophobic, each echo of footsteps magnified. Memories surged unbidden—Sakura's final moments in the Forest of Death, her terrified eyes locked on him while Orochimaru's laughter echoed. He clenched his teeth, pushing away the haunting image. He refused to let fear hold him back. He still had a mission, albeit a twisted one assigned by Danzo: ensure that the One Tailed beast caused just enough havoc to distract the entire village. Then, ideally, the Leaf's higher-ups would fall, giving Danzo an open path to power. It was a vile plan, but Naruto clung to the scraps of freedom he'd carved out, determined to thwart the worst outcomes. Or so he told himself, ignoring the twinge of guilt over his recent meltdown in front of the entire stadium.

He passed through a battered service door that led into an open walkway, catching sight of a narrow staircase angled upward. A wave of relief briefly flickered in his chest: that route should lead him out near the upper stands, closer to the main arena grounds. Then he felt the near-silent stir of chakra behind him—a flicker of unfamiliar presence. His instincts screamed a warning, and he slid to a halt. The corridor's low light revealed silhouettes around the corner: masked figures with minimal gear, each posture radiating lethal intent. Their uniforms were different from standard ANBU, lacking the usual swirl insignia, replaced by understated markings: Root agents. Naruto's stomach twisted.

He braced himself, scanning their positions—four men, each aligned in a neat formation. The one in the lead wore a heavier mask with an ornate swirl carved on the forehead, marking him as team captain. Naruto suppressed a rush of anger, calling out, "You… Root? Why are you here?" The corridor swallowed his voice. The leader stepped forward, posture rigid as steel. "Danzo-sama has new orders for you. You'll accompany us back to base immediately."

Naruto blinked, perplexed. "That can't be right," he shot back, forcing calm into his tone. "I have direct instructions from Danzo to watch the One Tail if it breaks loose. Did something change?" The Root squad captain let out a soft grunt, tossing Naruto a cylindrical scroll sealed with a distinctive wax. With hesitation, Naruto broke the seal, reading. His eyes flicked across the terse text:

Amendment to operative: Proceed to Root facility. Do not engage the One Tail until it has advanced to the village center. Refrain from aiding the Hokage or his loyalists. Remain hidden while their forces are thinned. Reinforcements from Sound and Sand will accelerate the objective. Follow these orders without deviation. Failure invites termination.

His grip tightened around the parchment, voice trembling with outrage. "This… This is insane!" he spat, glaring at them. "You want me to stand down while the Hokage dies? You can't be serious." A tide of revulsion churned inside him, directed at Danzo, at his manipulative nature. He wanted to vomit. "He told me to keep the One Tail from annihilating the village, but now he wants me to let it run wild—only stepping in once it's too late?"

The team leader regarded him without emotion. "Danzo's directives supersede previous ones. You will comply," he stated flatly.

Naruto's fists curled, mind a chaotic swirl. Does Danzo truly want me to do nothing while the Leaf suffers? He clenched his jaw, recalling the old war hawk's schemes. When he learns about my meltdown in front of everyone, he'll probably reprogram me or discard me entirely. It occurred to him that Danzo might punish him more severely. He snorted darkly, lip curling. "So either he boots me out of Root," he muttered bitterly under his breath, "or he uses that damned hidden Sharingan to rewrite my memories… or shut down my mind. The jerk always had that eye under bandages, assuming I'd never notice." He gave an involuntary shudder. The prospect of being bent to Danzo's will churned a spike of panic. Yet he refused to succumb, meeting the Root captain's gaze defiantly.

"How about no?" Naruto said at length, voice trembling with fury. "I'm not going anywhere. I have no intention of letting the Hokage or my fellow Jonin be slaughtered on your watch." He stepped back, adopting a combat-ready stance, albeit stiff from the earlier confrontation that left him drained. The four Root members moved swiftly, fanning out around him. Their leader slid a few steps back, leaving the subordinates to flank Naruto from left and right, sealing his escape routes.

Naruto's heart pounded, but he refused to yield. He pressed on, "I've come too far to just stand aside. You're messing with the wrong shinobi." He concentrated, preparing to unleash chakra. Father, Mother, advice now? he pleaded silently, seeking counsel from the intangible presence of the Otsutsuki parents locked deep in his mind. The father's calm baritone echoed, "Steady yourself. Resist the illusions of fear." His mother's gentler tone followed, "Be mindful of your emotions, my son. Anger clouds the path to victory."

The Root captain studied Naruto's glare. A faint shift in the man's posture betrayed anticipation, as if expecting a fight. Naruto exhaled, building chakra in his limbs. He recalled how to manipulate partial Otsutsuki abilities—just enough to handle these masked lapdogs. But then, in a single, horrifying instant, a searing pain coursed along his skin. Dark glyphs blossomed beneath his collar, crawling up his neck like serpents. Startled, Naruto staggered, reflexively pressing a hand to the side of his throat. "W-What's happening?"

For an answer, the Root leader took a measured step forward. "You're experiencing the self-cursing seal Danzo-sama placed on you years ago," he replied blandly. "Activating now ensures you cannot defy him."

Naruto's eyes went wide, confusion mixing with dread. A self-cursing seal? How did I never sense it? He collapsed to one knee as the markings spread across his arms and torso, snaring the chakra flow in every limb. I… I never even realized he'd done something like this. The earlier infiltration into Root's deeper archives had never uncovered a mention of self-cursing seals. He coughed, body convulsing, mind buzzing with panic. Father… Mother? He projected the plea inward. Ichiro, the father, whispered: "He must have embedded it during your early training. You were a child. We cannot break this easily." Hikari, the mother, added grimly, "Remain calm—flailing will worsen the seal's binding. Look for an opening."

But Naruto's limbs already felt leaden, each breath rasping. He struggled in vain to gather chakra. The swirling black tattoos crawled over his chest, forming a lattice that constricted each muscle. He tried to shout or form a hand sign, but his arms wouldn't obey. The Root squad advanced methodically, forming a loose circle around him. They took me by surprise, Naruto chastised himself. I should have foreseen Danzo might have a fallback method if I disobeyed. Now I'm pinned, powerless. He tried to lash out with even a fraction of his Otsutsuki strength, but the curse devoured every spark of chakra he summoned.

The Root captain's voice rang again. "This was always a possibility if you strayed from Danzo-sama's blueprint. Once triggered, the seal will bind your entire chakra network." The man slid a small bag from his belt and withdrew a syringe, its needle glinting ominously. "Hold still," he said flatly. "This won't take long."

Genma released a quiet, half-amused sigh. He had anticipated the possibility of late arrivals, given this particular mentor's reputation, but not quite so dramatically. Eyeing the newcomer, Genma cleared his throat. "Name?" he asked, his tone measured, though of course he recognized exactly who stood before him.

The dark-haired individual stood straight, exuding calm confidence. She wore a sleek black, one-piece ensemble adorned with small belts around her arms and legs—an updated style that subtly emphasized her clan's crest. Without hesitation, she replied, "Uchiha Sayuri."

From across the arena, the spectators stirred in an eruption of noise. The stands reverberated with cheers so loud that Genma felt the vibrations in his chest. Though annoyance lingered among some watchers for having been kept waiting, many were simply delighted to see the famed Uchiha heiress arrive at last. People who had nearly given up on her match now roared with renewed vigor.

Somewhere amidst the rows of onlookers, a few shinobi recognized Kakashi and exhaled relief that he had at least escorted his student here before disqualification. Others continued to gripe about the inconvenience.

In the front row of seats, certain individuals quietly noted the Uchiha's new attire, while near them, a few nin turned to their companions. "At least the final match can proceed now," murmured one. A wave of conversation rippled throughout the stands as watchers debated whether the young Uchiha's tardiness showed arrogance, or if a legitimate reason existed for her delay.

Meanwhile, at a balcony specially reserved for distinguished figures, the Hokage stood flanked by a few confidants. Opposite him, in a separate vantage spot, the Kazekage gazed intently upon the new arrival. The tension was almost palpable, given how close the Uchiha had come to forfeiture. Onlookers could sense the older leaders' curiosity—why had she cut it so close?

Genma returned his attention to the two tardy shinobi. Kakashi gave a small shrug, as if to say, At least we're here. The examiner almost shook his head in exasperation. "You realize you nearly got her disqualified?"

Kakashi answered sheepishly, "So sorry. Traffic, you know." That remark earned him a few eye-rolls from watchers in earshot.

At that, Genma suppressed a laugh, then faced the raven-haired heiress. "Listen. You've arrived past the designated time. The other Kages and officials are not pleased. Some penalty had to be imposed. As a result, you're ineligible for promotion, regardless of how well you perform." His voice carried a subdued gravity.

Sayuri's dark eyes narrowed momentarily. She digested the news in silence, only giving a slight nod. Her stance betrayed no sign of wavering. "Understood," she said curtly. "I didn't come here solely for the rank." A faint smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth, revealing a subdued challenge in her expression. "I came to test the strength I've honed."

Genma arched an eyebrow. "In that case, do you choose to proceed, or forfeit?"

"I will fight," she replied simply, crossing her arms.

Kakashi, relieved that matters hadn't escalated further, spoke up, "All right then. Good luck, Sayuri." With that, he offered a wave and vanished in a flicker of movement, presumably to join others in the stands.

Genma exhaled slowly. "Very well," he told the Uchiha. "We'll continue as planned. But do note: you are excluded from promotion. The rest is merely for the spectacle and for your personal growth. Are we clear?"

Sayuri responded with a confident "Yes."

Across the crowd, an electric hush fell, watchers leaning forward. Rumors about the Uchiha's new training had spread, fueling speculation about whether her tardiness signaled final, intense sessions. For many in attendance, especially visiting dignitaries, this match had been among the day's prime attractions. The hush soon broke into murmuring, but the tension remained.

Within a quieter section, Shikamaru yawned. He'd already completed his role in the finals—albeit in an unexpected manner. Eyeing the scene, he shook his head. "That was some flashy entrance. She probably wanted to make sure everyone was on edge before she arrived," he muttered.

Some distance away, Ino rolled her eyes, recalling how an earlier match had almost been canceled by lateness. "Can't these people keep track of time?" she whispered under her breath.

Meanwhile, back near the arena floor, the examiner signaled his readiness. The next step involved confirming who would face Sayuri. Various eyes scanned for the opposing fighter's presence. Rustles of inquiry drifted among the assembled shinobi in the waiting area. A figure hopped down from the opposite side of the stands, landing with an echoing thump. He had a relaxed but alert posture.

The crowd rumbled in expectation. Genma flicked his gaze from the arriving competitor to the Uchiha. "This is it," he muttered. "We have both participants. Let's not waste any more time."

Sayuri's stance shifted, her shoulders lowering, as though preparing to engage in a swift confrontation. She brushed an errant strand of hair away from her forehead. For all the spectacle, she remained silent, focusing on the match at hand.

Far above, in the distinguished box, the Hokage watched with cautious interest. Though he was displeased by the hours lost to tardiness, part of him was curious about the rumored new skills the Uchiha might unveil. Next to him, the Kazekage kept unblinking attention on the arena, making no comment, though hints of intrigue glimmered in his gaze.

Moments stretched. The tension soared. Finally, Genma raised a hand. "All right, both finalists. If you're ready… begin!"

Naruto's entire body felt like it was on fire, constricted by tendrils of that traitorous curse mark surging across his arms and chest. The sudden weight pressed into his limbs, turning them to lead, and the swirling shapes seethed ominously. Each breath was forced, reminiscent of straining against iron restraints. The Root captain's dark uniform caught the faint glow of torchlight, and Naruto's gaze locked on the man's ghostly mask. His mind reeled at the realization of Danzo's betrayal—this overshadowed even the sense of humiliating captivity. He tried to raise a hand, only to find it pinned by the crackling energy binding his torso. The corridor was claustrophobic, with stone walls damp from neglected upkeep. Water dripped somewhere beyond his view, accentuating the suffocating hush.

The Root captain showed no pity. The others loomed behind him, a silent phalanx with identical masks. Inside Naruto's head, he felt the churn of his own righteous anger fueling an undercurrent of raw energy. So Danzo took special measures, he thought, forcing down a sneer. But he miscalculated. Naruto coughed, choking on the oppressive seal. He tried to flex his chakra reserves, but the seal's dark lines tightened, as if hungry to devour every drop of energy. Still, he felt a subtle crack deep within him, a tension that stretched the bindings like a wire about to snap.

Within the swirl of confusion and rage, another voice echoed: Mother's voice—Hikari, calm but urgent: "Steady yourself. Resist the urge to let anger blind you." Then Father's imprint—Ichiro's voice—slithered through the tumult, sharper: "We told you to watch for Danzo's brand. Why did you not sense it earlier?" Guilt stung Naruto, fusing with the raw fury that flared at his betrayal. "It's my own damn fault," Naruto snapped inwardly, sweat trickling down his temples. Meanwhile, the Root captain advanced with that needle, the corridor's bleak light shimmering on the glass.

Everything inside Naruto resisted the notion of being pinned like a caged beast. The captain's footsteps clicked on the stone floor, echoing in the hush. Each step reverberated with finality. Naruto's heart thumped, surging with indignation. The man extended the syringe slowly, his tone artificially soothing: "There's no need to struggle. When you awaken, you'll be safely at HQ." A biting dryness filled Naruto's mouth. Then, in a single heartbeat, he felt the seal tighten so fiercely it threatened to tear him apart. The swirling inky lines, like living serpents, constricted around his torso. Any lesser shinobi might have relented.

But Naruto's Otsutsuki heritage refused subjugation. A sudden jolt of power flooded his veins. The swirl of his unique chakra, once suppressed, roared like a tempest. Blue-white arcs shimmered across his forearms, blazing bright enough to cast dancing shadows. All at once, a crackling force set the corridor's air swirling. The Anbu scattered, their sandals scuffing the floor. The captain hesitated, mask tilting in fleeting surprise. Then, near Naruto's heart, the lines of the curse seal began to crumble. They flaked away, dissolving in the light of his unleashed chakra.

An electric hum filled the space, offset by the stench of burning seal tags. The Root members stiffened in unison, their training compelling them to react. "Rally!" barked one, but it was already too late. Naruto inhaled, half-lidded eyes shining with raw hostility. In a voice ragged from suppressed fury, he growled, "You morons think this seal would hold me?" The corridor walls quivered with the reverb of his chakra. The swirling lines turned to ash, drifting from his shoulders. Freed from the coils, Naruto half rose, clenching his fist.

A single step brought him face to face with the captain. From the perspective of the onlooking Anbu, it seemed like Naruto vanished. Something bright, possibly a blade, caught the flicker of the corridor's light. The next instant, the captain's masked head toppled from his shoulders, blood misting the cold air. Time slowed, revealing the silent horror on the watchers' faces. The Root captain's body slumped, lifeless. Naruto stood behind him, brandishing a blade of pure crackling energy: the Raijin no ken, rumored to be a manifestation of condensed chakra that only few could wield.

The shock of it paralyzed the rest for half a breath. Then the corridor erupted into movement. "He's lethal. Engage!" cried a second Anbu, springing forward with a drawn ninjato. The immediate clash of steel reverberated. Sparks rained as Naruto's luminous sword carved the short blade in two. With savage grace, he pivoted, slicing upward. The attacker flew back, blood trailing across the dank walls. Another Root tried to flank him, unleashing a barrage of kunai. Naruto's eyes glinted with scorn. A swift flourish of his Raijin no ken sent them clattering aside, each metal ring echoing.

In the flurry, an Anbu launched a jutsu: an attempt to bind him with shadowy cords. But Naruto's aura flared, shattering the half-formed technique. A backhand slash parted the air. The attacker stumbled, then crumpled, armor severed. Crimson splattered the floor. Naruto advanced relentlessly, heart pounding from fury and adrenaline. So this is Root's loyalty, he thought, never asking why, just following Danzo's revised orders. A scowl twisted Naruto's lips. They're damned fools. My next conversation with that old hawk can't come soon enough.

The corridor resounded with the violent exchange. Two more Root members lunged from Naruto's blind spots, moving in sync. Their synergy was impeccable—Root's hallmark was perfect coordination. But Naruto's senses had soared beyond their predictions. With a sharp intake of breath, he whipped around, parrying the first's blade. The second aimed a lethal thrust at his flank. Naruto flared chakra from his palm, halting the strike mid-lunge. Then, with a quick flick of his wrist, he reversed his blade. The opponent's startled cry was drowned as the Raijin no ken cleaved through his torso. Blood spattered the stones.

The final attacker of that pair tried to retreat, launching a final flurry of shuriken. Naruto calmly stepped to the side, the bright sparks trailing off the shimmering blade. In a single forward thrust, he ended it. They never had a chance, echoed a bitter murmur from Father's mental imprint. Naruto grimaced. He realized the truth in that. They might have been formidable as a unit, but they'd severely underestimated him—and Danzo's seal had ironically fueled his rage.

A hush descended as the last of them toppled. Corpses, or soon-to-be corpses, lay scattered along the corridor. Blood seeped into the aged grout between stones. Dripping, echoing, the corridor gloom intensified. Each body bore savage slashes from the luminous sword. Naruto held the ephemeral blade aloft a moment longer, breath rasping from tension. Tingles ran through his arms from channeling so much chakra in a short time. He bit his lower lip, feeling the tang of iron.

Something akin to regret flickered in his eyes. They were tools, used by that bastard Danzo, he reminded himself. But I can't risk them reporting back. They saw too much. The Root squad had confronted him at precisely the wrong moment. If even one survived, Danzo might glean new strategies to control or hamper him again. He refused to let that happen. Extinguishing the blade, Naruto knelt near the pinned-down corpses, scanning them for signs of life. There were none. The frigid hush of finality weighed on him.

Within his mind, Mother's voice was quiet. "Such a waste of life. But this is your path now, my son… you must survive." Father's imprint offered no consolation. Instead, the dryness of his tone: "Leave no trace." Naruto nodded to empty air. They're right. No evidence. He mustered his breath, performing a quick sequence of hand seals. A small flame sparked at his lips. This was no simple Katon: Gōkakyū or anything so flamboyant. Instead, it was a controlled variant, honed for incineration, the kind used by skilled operatives to erase remains.

He cast the flame upon the bodies, watching them ignite in a subdued conflagration. The flickering dance of orange and red licked up the cloth and flesh. He refused to let himself recoil, though the stench was overwhelming. With each second, the remains disintegrated, reduced to ashes that drifted across the floor. The sweltering heat pressed on his face. His eyes hardened. This is the price for betraying me, or for following Danzo's twisted commands.

Smoke clung to the low ceiling, swirling with the faint draft. The last embers of charred flesh dulled, leaving only black powder. Naruto cast a final glance over the corridor, verifying that no lumps or scraps of gear remained. Grim satisfaction settled in him as he realized even the anbu's specialized masks had melted away under that intense flame. No evidence, no trace, no burdensome questions. The corridor reeked of scorched metal and burned protein, but at least his presence wasn't recorded in the form of corpses.

He heard footsteps or voices from beyond a corner. A second's adrenaline spike told him more Root might approach. Quickly, he performed a short wind technique to scatter the swirling ash. With the job done, he turned on his heel. There was no time to dwell. Danzo would find out soon enough that his ambush had failed. But the presence of these Root members also meant the invasion plan advanced faster than expected. They wanted him out of the arena, ensuring the Hokage's downfall along with loyal Jonin. "Not happening," Naruto snarled under his breath.

The corridor's gloom parted as he advanced. Flames' afterlight danced on the walls behind him. He stepped over the last smoking trace, cloak swirling around his ankles in the flicker. A final tilt of his head confirmed no further watchers. The hush thickened like a funeral shroud. He had to move. The orders from Danzo had changed, but Naruto scorned that shift. He intended to do what he must.

Inside his mind, Father's imprint spoke: "Danzo is either bold or desperate. He must suspect your power." Naruto's lips tightened. That man had always wanted a puppet, but Naruto was no docile instrument. "He's about to learn," he whispered. "Still, I owe him one polite discussion after this fiasco." Dark humor tinted the remark. If not for the seriousness of events, he might have laughed.

Mother's gentle tone tried to calm him: "Stay prudent. Remember, multiple foes lurk." Naruto inhaled slowly, trying to quell the scorching anger that threatened to overshadow reason. The corridor twisted, leading him back toward an exit that connected to a side walkway. He recalled the infiltration routes, charting a mental path that would bring him nearest to the arena's main halls. Outside, the sky had begun turning that dusky color that signaled the late hour. Time was short. The matches might be concluding, or the invasion might already be triggered. I have to hurry.

He pressed forward with fluid strides, the reek of blood and ashes clinging to his clothes. The halls were eerily empty. Possibly, more Root squads roamed elsewhere, or they'd left him to the captain's group. He clenched his fists. That cursed brand. The memory of its slithering lines fueled his loathing. If not for his Otsutsuki chakra, it might have subdued him. Gritting his teeth, he resolved to remain wary. Danzo wouldn't rely on a single failsafe. Another hidden measure could lurk.

But for now, Naruto refused to let caution paralyze him. He needed to return. His mind churned with unresolved matters. Would the building he owned still stand? He pictured the outraged spectators, recalling the final meltdown in the arena, how they discovered his secret as Hiro the shoe shiner. The hateful scorn in their eyes. They'd probably try to torch my place. The notion stung, not because he cherished the building's bricks, but because it embodied years of tireless, humiliating labor.

Despite that, Naruto pressed on. He'd handle that chaos later—maybe chase the would-be arsonists out with a fraction of the rage he'd unleashed on Root. If the building burnt, so be it. Survival took precedence. He'd need to talk with Danzo, that was certain, but first, the plan: Stop the One Tail from wreaking havoc, keep the village from total ruin, let the Hokage handle Orochimaru.

The corridor's gloom opened into a narrow side passage. The crisp air of dusk poured in from an archway, rustling his hair. He paused briefly, scanning for threats. None appeared. That was an ominous sign. Possibly, the infiltration had begun in the arena. He tensed, recalling the timeline: Invasion triggers once the finals climax. Time was nearly up.

No more time to dwell. He flew through the archway, footsteps barely audible. The tension in his muscles did not subside. A glimmer of regret flickered for an instant, thinking of the Root corpses left behind as ash. He shoved the sentiment aside. A single misstep in this lethal game meant losing everything. Focus.

He strode into the open walkway, the fading sun outlining the rooftops below. The grand spires of the stadium loomed in the near distance. The crowd roars had quieted, replaced by a strange hush that might portend turmoil. Better hurry.

Gathering a silent coil of chakra around his legs, he leapt to a rooftop, scanning for watchers. Nothing stirred but the wind. He propelled himself onward, bounding across tiles and terraces at high speed. Each leap brought him closer to the main structure.

He recapped his thoughts, lips pressed thin: Danzo believes he has me on a leash? He's mistaken. The destroyed Root squad served as proof. Danzo's illusions of absolute control just shattered like broken glass. Exhilaration warred with apprehension. He didn't relish these kills, but he also refused to be cornered.

Finally, the stadium's upper vantage came into view, ringed by scaffolding. Naruto landed softly behind a large decorative overhang, the stone still warm from hours of sunlight. He paused, taking in the distant hum of unsettled watchers. They must be alarmed about something. Possibly, the infiltration had commenced from within. He inhaled carefully, tasting the air. Subtle hints of smoke, not from the corridor but from further within the city. So it's begun.

Steeling himself, he crouched. His mind drifted again to the curses, the infiltration, Danzo's illusions, and the threat of a rampaging One Tail. But he cast it aside for the moment. His path was set. He would do what he must to contain the threat—and if the place was set ablaze, so be it. The day's betrayals wouldn't stop him from fulfilling his chosen role.

With the posture of a predator, Naruto sprang forward. The bright sky dimmed into twilight. The arena tower's silhouette jutted proudly before him, reminiscent of an ancient fortress. He quickened his pace, ignoring the burn in his thighs from that earlier skirmish. He had to be there, to ensure no beast wiped out the last of his illusions about family, about a future.

Yes, he would settle with Danzo soon. And whether or not the man kept a Sharingan hidden or more vile curses, Naruto would be ready. One conversation… then maybe a final reckoning.

For now, though, he soared toward the stadium's edge, heart pounding with a mixture of anger, defiance, and resolve. Behind him, the corridor's gloom receded, along with the fading stench of slaughter. He felt the dryness in his mouth again, a side effect of unleashing so much chakra, but it didn't slow him. The clang of distant alarm bells echoed faintly. He was almost there.

The day's events coalesced in his mind: infiltration, curses, the savage dispatch of Root, burning away evidence of their confrontation. All of it culminating in this single moment—charging back into the fray. No illusions of heroism. Merely a determination to impose his will, stand by his own path, and, if needed, keep the monstrous threat from ripping the village apart.

Wind lashed his hair, carrying whispers of chaos from within the arena. His eyes sharpened, gleaning an open vantage on the stadium's upper walkway. With a final bounding leap, he vaulted onto a ledge. The noise from inside rose, overshadowing earlier hush. Tension charged the air, promises of imminent conflict.

Despite the adrenaline thrumming in his veins, Naruto maintained a slow exhale. He was done playing by other people's scripts. His own plan had begun. He would not bow to Danzo, nor let Orochimaru or any other fiend claim the day. The corridor slaughter behind him simply served as a warning: none would bar his path.

Thus, he pressed on, heading for the next vantage. The sky's last ribbons of orange receded behind the western horizon. Darkness thickened. With it, an undercurrent of wariness. Another day, another fight. Another betrayal. But he was still standing.

He clenched his fists, feeling lingering residue of the cursed seal's fracturing. A faint grin touched his lips, savage satisfaction in that. So much for being a puppet.

He disappeared into the shadows, merging with the architecture's gloom, heading for the final approach into the arena's main thoroughfare.

Within minutes, the corridor's confrontation receded into memory, replaced by the swirling intensities of the greater conflict. He thought only of reaching the stage, of preventing the absolute worst scenario. Another hush overcame him, half-born from his parents' mental echoes. One step at a time.

No sooner had the proctor bounded clear than Gaara lifted his right hand, commanding the cork in his gourd to pop off. Instantly, sand started trickling out in a fluid motion. The sight was mesmerizing—like a river weaving through the air, responding to Gaara's faint gestures. The boy's eyes glowed with an unsettling bloodthirst, his lips curved in a barely discernible smirk. Across from him, Sayuri took a step back, acknowledging the danger. She had heard rumors that Gaara's mastery of sand manipulation bordered on unstoppable. Observing how the grains shifted about him in a swirling halo, she mentally rehearsed tactics.

But as Gaara tried to bring more sand forth, a flash of discomfort gripped him. With a pained gasp, he clutched at his temple, grimacing. The swirling mass faltered momentarily, and the crowd leaned forward, perplexed. Those close enough could hear Gaara mumbling, "Mother… it hurts… forgive me…" in a strained whisper. Sayuri angled her head in disbelief, uncertain if this was an unhinged act or genuine agony. She tried to guess whether a vulnerability had revealed itself. Yet before she could deduce anything, Gaara abruptly stilled his trembling, regaining that monstrous glare.

"I'll crush you," Gaara breathed. "Come at me."

That was all Sayuri needed to hear. She wasted no time. Quickly flicking her wrist, she released a pair of sharpened shuriken that spun toward Gaara's torso. A wall of sand, however, rose instantly, catching both projectiles in mid-flight. At the same moment, Gaara shaped some of his sand into a moving replica of himself—a clone that leapt forward with a broad swipe. Sayuri darted aside in a graceful side step. The air stirred around them, tension crackling like lightning.

Sensing an opening, Sayuri bolted in, seeking to strike. Before she even closed half the distance, Gaara's clone hurled a surge of sand in her path, forcing her to vault into the air. While airborne, she saw the clone fling her own confiscated shuriken back at her. She responded with swift reflexes, summoning two more steel blades from her pouch, which she launched to intercept the incoming projectiles. Metal clanged in midair, and the crowd watched with rapt fascination. As soon as the deflected shuriken fell, Sayuri capitalized on the downward momentum. She soared in a spinning kick aimed squarely at the clone's head, but the sand double blocked it efficiently, pushing her off-balance.

Regaining her stance, Sayuri pivoted and delivered a backhand strike to the clone's jugular. The sand responded with preternatural speed, beginning to coil around her arm. Realizing the trap, she smashed her fist into the clone's face. The double collapsed back into sand, sending grains scattering. Gaara stood about ten meters away, eyes narrowing, evidently calculating his next move.

Spotting Gaara's figure now open, Sayuri dashed in. A direct punch at Gaara's shoulder would end it swiftly, or so she hoped. Yet, as her fist neared, Gaara's swirling sand formed a barrier, forcing her to stop short. Immediately, the barrier shifted, trying to envelop her from multiple angles. Seeing it, she vanished in a burst of speed, reappearing several paces back. The crowd gasped at her agility, reminiscent of advanced shinobi.

When the sand receded, it coiled back around Gaara protectively. He wore a cold expression, though behind it lurked a trace of annoyance. The two youths locked eyes. Genin throughout the stadium felt a sense of déjà vu, recalling a prior match where someone had relied on unimaginable speed to handle an opponent's unstoppable defense. This time, though, the dynamic was fresh. The watchers murmured about whether the realm of mortal effort could truly break Gaara's sand.

Undeterred, Sayuri pressed a hand behind her back, recalling the stance she had rehearsed. She spread her feet in a balanced guard. Her dark eyes glinted with resolution. "So your defense envelops you fully," she murmured. "But even perfect walls can fail."

Gaara's scowl deepened. He lifted both hands, sending a wave of sand spears in her direction. She blurred aside, leaving an afterimage in her wake. The spears shattered the ground where she once stood, then snapped back into Gaara's orbit. He glimpsed her materializing behind him. With minimal flourish, she unleashed a driving right hook to the side of his face. A dull crack resounded, sending him skidding a short distance. But as he raised his face, faint cracks across his skin suggested an unseen protective layer was in place.

From a vantage point in the stands, multiple onlookers were transfixed, forced to watch the swirl of activity below. Shinobi among them recognized that Gaara had not sustained direct damage. His face's surface displayed noticeable fissures that revealed a hidden protective shell of sand. Or perhaps some advanced ninjutsu. Many exclaimed in shock, while others grimly commented about Gaara's so-called "ultimate defense."

Meanwhile, the proctor hovered near the outskirts of the battlefield, anxious. The possibility of large-scale devastation unsettled him, especially given Gaara's rumored unpredictability. He kept one hand ready on a summoning tag, in case he had to intervene. Tension radiated upward, even reaching the highest balcony, where the Hokage frowned in silent concern.

Next to the Hokage, the robed Kazekage (still no sign that he was anything but) also displayed intense focus on the match. Yet if one looked closer, one might see a hidden curiosity or excitement. A fleeting flicker in those eyes behind the veil.

Sayuri, regaining her stance after that partial blow, noted how Gaara's superficial cracks were slowly sealing, fine sand re-knitting to maintain the protective armor. "Your punch is worthless," Gaara spat. His voice was low, but laced with contempt. "My defenses exceed your meager efforts."

"Confident, aren't you?" retorted Sayuri. She inhaled, flickers of determination lighting her gaze. "Let's test that more thoroughly." With that, she shifted her stance, adopting a posture reminiscent of advanced taijutsu forms she had glimpsed from certain prior sparrings. The subtlety was not lost on some watchers, who thought of a spandex-wearing shinobi with unmatched physical skill. But that figure was absent now, leaving only speculation.

Sayuri sprang forward in a burst of speed that made the air ripple around her. Gaara's eyes flared wide, and he tried to will his sand around in time to capture her. But she had vanished from her initial vantage, reappearing to his flank with a flying elbow. The blow slammed into the side of Gaara's head. The crowd erupted in gasps. The sand armor parted slightly from the force. Yet he remained standing, though forced a couple steps aside. As Gaara pivoted, sand coiling around him to retaliate, she disappeared yet again, flickering to his other side. A powerful spin kick hammered into his ribcage region. More cracks formed across the protective shell.

Bewildered hush fell across the stadium. Gaara's legendary defense seemed to be fracturing. The watchers had never witnessed such success at close quarters. Even the proctor was wide-eyed, forcibly reminding himself to keep a safe distance. Over the next few seconds, Gaara tried multiple times to lash out with bands of sand. But each attempt found only open space. Sayuri darted around him, footwork weaving in a lethal dance, each strike chipping away at the armor.

One final time, she pounced inside Gaara's so-called "safe zone," delivering a scything kick to his upper chest. The force pitched him onto one knee, an audible hiss of pain escaping his lips. The cracks along his sandy shell were now extensive. But as the onlookers expected a swift finishing blow, Sayuri halted a few paces off, panting. High-speed movement at that level drained her stamina, and rivulets of sweat lined her brow.

Gaara slowly pressed a palm to the ground, supporting himself, eyes ablaze with a savage mixture of hatred and shock. The stadium's hush broke as the crowd began murmuring in disbelief. "She's actually forcing him down," some whispered. "Is Gaara's perfect shield not so perfect?" others mused.

In that lull, Gaara twitched, then forcibly mustered more sand from the gourd behind him. Grains cascaded forth, building thick lumps around his shoulders and arms. Meanwhile, that partial armor around his face began re-forming swiftly. He exhaled a shuddering breath, and tension crackled in the air. "No," he snarled, voice edging on mania. "I won't lose… I refuse to be wounded again." Something about his glare signaled a deeper malevolence stirring inside him.

Sayuri recognized the shift. She glimpsed how he had begun weaving a different hand seal, one that conjured swirling motions of sand forming a protective sphere around him. The dome thickened gradually, as if forging a shell to block outside interference. Realizing that letting him complete this fortress would be dangerous, she lunged forward. But just as she readied to land a blow, sharp spikes jutted from the shell's surface, warning her to back away or risk impalement.

Hissing softly, she retreated to a safer distance, scanning the partial bubble. He was shutting himself inside entirely. "That technique is new," she muttered. "Must be some advanced method of isolation. Probably can't attack while in there, but he's also invulnerable." She tried a volley of kunai at the shell. They merely clinked off the hardened exterior, dropping uselessly to the ground.

The stands erupted in mutters once more, confusion mounting. In one sector, a squad of watchers recognized the sphere, exclaiming that this signaled Gaara's ultimate move. The proctor, narrowing his eyes, realized an impasse had formed. Meanwhile, the Kazekage's watch from the box took on an amused tilt.

Inside that sphere, Gaara was experiencing an inner storm. The jutsu he employed allowed him to gather more chakra to transform or unleash powers unknown to the general audience. All the watchers saw was the outward result: a large ball of sand perched ominously in the arena's center. Expectation thickened. However, from within that bubble, Gaara let loose a quiet whimper: "Blood… my blood… how dare you make me bleed…"

He clutched at his injured shoulder, recalling the stinging sensation. Something primal lurked behind his eyes. The danger was palpable, and Sayuri thought back to her intelligence on the boy's rumored monstrous transformation. Could it be that we're heading for a catastrophic event?

In the stands, an older gentleman with a jounin vest discreetly rose to take vantage with a better line of sight. He recognized the precarious direction. If Gaara triggered that rumored monstrous side, there'd be devastation. People braced themselves unconsciously, as if anticipating an oncoming quake.

At length, the sphere's top began to crack. But instead of merely letting Gaara emerge, something twisted and unnatural broke through—a pale, monstrous limb with bizarre markings. For an instant, the entire stadium felt a cold dread. The sight of that arm triggered alarm in more than one seasoned ninja. People cried out in shock. The proctor crouched, tension coiling in his legs, waiting to see if immediate intervention was necessary.

Sayuri steeled herself. He's morphing, she realized. So that rumor about Gaara harboring a monstrous force inside might be true. She settled her stance, considering how best to respond if the transformation advanced.

High above, the robed Kazekage's posture stiffened. Meanwhile, the Hokage eyed him with suspicion. Jiraiya, standing near the Hokage, noticed the shift in the robed figure's aura. Something was about to happen. Suddenly, a disturbance in the air manifested as delicate feathers seemed to materialize overhead, drifting downward in a hypnotic, silent snowfall. People blinked in confusion. Shinobi recognized it as a large-scale genjutsu, designed to lull watchers into a deep sleep.

Chaos erupted in the stands. Many spectators started slumping over. A handful of sharp-minded ninja performed "Release!" to break free, scanning the environment for the caster. The entire stadium was enveloped in confusion. Then, without further warning, a thunderous explosion roared from the Kage box area. Smoke poured from that section, obscuring the vantage. Gasps multiplied. The proctor realized the final invasion had begun.

At that precise moment, Gaara, still within his partial sphere, let out a guttural scream. The monstrous pale arm withdrew, and the bubble collapsed back into normal sand, exposing Gaara kneeling on the ground, clutching his shoulder. His face contorted with fury and pain. From the stands, a pair of Suna figures abruptly vaulted down, heading straight for him with worried expressions. They landed at his side, exchanging frantic glances with him. Another figure from the stands unleashed a gust of wind that blasted any nearby watchers aside.

Amid the swirling confusion, the stadium's once-orderly finals collapsed into a battlefield. The proctor stepped back, realizing the match was effectively nullified. He glimpsed that Gaara was no longer capable of a normal fight. The Suna individuals seemed to be conferring quickly, planning an escape or further action. Meanwhile, a wave of masked shinobi, possibly infiltrators, began to converge on key vantage points, subduing watchers. The hush was replaced by screams, shouts, and metallic clangs.

In the highest vantage, the Hokage realized the robed Kazekage had turned hostile, ordering unknown foot soldiers to restrain them. Jiraiya's eyes widened, and the old man cursed under his breath that he had not suspected this earlier. The robed figure's features flickered, revealing something disguised behind that façade. A swirl of lethal intent surged.

Within seconds, the robed Kazekage forcibly pinned the Hokage with a kunai to his throat, leaping onto the rooftop with unnatural speed. Jiraiya followed in a swirl of motion, tension radiating through every sinew. He recognized that the time for caution had ended. On the rooftop, the Kazekage's two so-called guards tossed small smoke grenades, causing plumes of colored fumes to envelop everything. Through the haze, Jiraiya heard the Hokage's calm but steely voice: "So this is your plan, Kazekage? To break the village from within?"

A hollow chuckle drifted from behind that swirling cloak. "My dear sensei…" the figure purred in a strangely familiar tone. "You must realize by now that the real Kazekage is not here." Then the figure pulled away the mask, revealing the pale, predatory face of Orochimaru.

Jiraiya and the Hokage both froze. Even overshadowed by smoke, the serpent-like eyes of Orochimaru shone with malevolent delight. "Surprised to see me, old teacher?" Orochimaru hissed, pressing the kunai just near the Hokage's jugular.

On the rooftop, Jiraiya's breath hissed out in fury. "You vile traitor," he snarled. "Was the real Kazekage disposed of?"

A cruel smirk curled Orochimaru's lips. "A trifling detail. Let's say he's out of the picture. Now, this entire festival is overshadowed by my designs. The illusions, the infiltration, Gaara's meltdown—it all stands as a testament to the downfall of this village you cherish. And you, old Hokage… you'll be the final trophy."

The Hokage's gaze narrowed, ignoring the blade near his throat. "You've destroyed any illusions of loyalty you once had, Orochimaru. But do not think age has dulled my fangs. Jiraiya stands with me. You cannot simply take my head."

Orochimaru's laugh crackled over the rooftop's empty spaces. "I look forward to verifying that. Indeed, you have your loyal supporters, but that changes nothing. My endgame is in motion. Your village is far weaker than you realize. Suna and other forces have infiltrated deeply."

Eyes set in grim determination, the Hokage calmly said, "Then we shall see the result when all is said and done."

Back within the stadium floor, panic was absolute. The infiltration squads pinned watchers, illusions rendered half the audience unconscious, and the infiltration from outside had begun with exploding walls. Suna and certain allied shinobi strove to sow chaos. Gaara, still trembling, seemed ready to transform but was ushered away by his anxious Suna companions. They hissed something about it being time to retreat and fulfill the plan. He cast one last murderous stare across the half-collapsed arena before consenting to move. In moments, they had leapt across the field, heading for an exit corridor, presumably to continue the next stage of sabotage or liberation of Gaara's monstrous power somewhere else.

Back on the rooftop, smoke still swirled. The second the kunai parted from the Hokage's throat, the old man sidestepped, freeing himself with a cunning twist. Orochimaru slid back, letting the swathe of robes fall, revealing more serpent-like attire underneath. Jiraiya took up a flanking position, keenly aware of how formidable Orochimaru could be. The Hokage exhaled slowly, mentally preparing. "You intended to orchestrate Gaara's rampage during the finals to cripple the village's defensive ability, then pick off key targets," the Hokage assessed. "But it seems your plan met complications."

Orochimaru's grin broadened. "A minor wrinkle. But Konoha is still doomed. We stand upon your tomb, sensei."

Jiraiya shifted, adrenaline humming in his veins. "We have little time, Lord Hokage. The stadium below is already a warzone. Let's end this swiftly."

Orochimaru's amused chuckle was cut short by the arrival of four masked shinobi who took positions at cardinal points, weaving hand seals in perfect sync. "Ninja Art: Four Violet Flames Battle Encampment!" they cried. At once, a shimmering purple barrier expanded around the rooftop, sealing inside the Hokage, Jiraiya, and Orochimaru. The Hokage recognized it immediately: a specialized jutsu preventing interference from outside.

The masked ANBU who tried to approach the roof found themselves blocked by that glowing perimeter. One tried pressing in, only to be violently repulsed and set aflame. A hush of dread fell on the watchers outside, who realized they were powerless to aid.

Inside the barrier, Orochimaru's expression exuded a twisted glee. "We have all the privacy we need, sensei," he purred. "No interruptions. I'm most eager to measure your so-called legendary skill again."

Jiraiya, standing by the Hokage, uttered a grim vow. "We'll see how your arrogance fares."

While the rooftop confrontation escalated, the stadium interior was no better. Shinobi from various sides clashed. The proctor tried to corral fleeing civilians, leading them out a side gate, or urging them to awaken from the genjutsu. Debris from partial demolitions littered the arena. Spots of open flame dotted the stands. A swirl of chaos reigned in that once-proud coliseum.

At the heart of the field, where Gaara once conjured his monstrous transformations, the ground was scorched and cratered. The air reeked of destruction. Some protective squads from the village bravely engaged the infiltration teams. But the infiltration was well-coordinated, pointing to a large-scale conspiracy.

Somewhere along the stadium's perimeter corridor, Gaara and his aides had paused. The red-haired youth clutched his wounded shoulder, occasional tremors rocking his frame. He hungered to complete his transformation, to unleash carnage. But evidently, the plan demanded they relocate to a less-crowded sector to avoid friendly fire. The two Suna figures at his side tried coaxing him, reminding him of commands from higher-ups. Gaara spat a mouthful of blood-tinged saliva. "I need more blood," he muttered, half-crazed eyes flicking to the corridor. "I'll find it soon enough."

They advanced deeper into the labyrinth of corridors, presumably heading for vantage outside the stadium to let Gaara freely assume his monstrous form. The infiltration required total devastation, if the Suna side was to triumph. A swirl of half-formed illusions might have also contributed to their swift exit, as they weren't prepared for open confrontation with certain formidable leaf shinobi.

Amid the swirl of infiltration below, up on the rooftop, Orochimaru confronted the Hokage and Jiraiya within that violet barrier. The old man lowered into a battle stance, hands drifting near the tools pouches. Jiraiya likewise prepared. Orochimaru wove his fingers, adopting a distinctive serpentine posture.

"Sensei," Orochimaru said mockingly. "Try not to crumble too fast. I'd hate for you to be overshadowed by the chaos below."

The Hokage's eyes gleamed with sorrow-laced resolve. "All these years, Orochimaru. Why inflict this devastation? Why lead Suna astray? Have you so little empathy?"

Orochimaru rolled his eyes dramatically. "Empathy? Don't weigh me with such trifles. I parted ways with your illusions of loyalty the day I left the village. This is merely the next logical step in my quest for knowledge and dominion."

Lightning tension crackled among them. Jiraiya measured the distance, considering how best to disrupt Orochimaru's vantage while mitigating risk to the Hokage. The serpent sennin's cunning was legendary.

Quietly, the Hokage stepped forward, voice dropping to a near hush. "Let us see if your cruelty stands firm when faced with the Will of Fire."

In response, Orochimaru flicked his wrist, revealing a hidden blade. "Such an antiquated concept," he sneered. With that, they lunged. The clash began with swift hand seals. Orochimaru spat forth a torrent of serpents, snapping fangs at the Hokage's ankles. Jiraiya countered with a partial summoning, conjuring a protective toad shield. The serpents hissed, recoiling, teeth scraping the amphibian's hide.

The Hokage capitalized on the moment, weaving a jutsu that conjured earthen spikes from the rooftop. Orochimaru dodged with inhuman contortions, flipping overhead and releasing a gust of wind-chakra that forced Jiraiya to brace. Sparks from the violet barrier ignited in the background, intensifying the claustrophobic atmosphere.

Below, the infiltration continued, and some corners of the stadium literally burned. Countless illusions, partial transformations, and chaotic skirmishes raged. Over it all, the roars of summoned creatures near the outskirts of the village signaled the external assault had begun in earnest. The defenders raced to form squads, but the infiltration from within made organization chaotic.

The day which had begun as a proud final exam had degenerated into a large-scale conflict, manipulated by Orochimaru. Many recognized that only the Hokage and his allies might mitigate the disaster—if they survived.

At the outskirts of the stadium, Gaara halted again, groaning as if in mental torment. One of his aides hissed, "We must hurry," urging him onward. But Gaara's face twisted with mania. "I need to kill. I need to feed mother with their blood," he muttered. The partial sand still dripped from his gourd, hinting at readiness to transform. The infiltration's objective might have been for him to wreak havoc, but unpredictability overshadowed that plan.

Back inside the barrier, the Hokage traded direct blows with Orochimaru's blade, while Jiraiya skirted wide, preparing a summoning. Orochimaru launched a barrage of hidden shadow snakes from his sleeves. Some latched onto the Hokage's staff, which was now summoned from partial ninjutsu reminiscent of an old style. The staff blocked the snapping fangs, revealing it to be a specialized shapeshifting rod.

"You haven't lost your cunning, sensei," Orochimaru remarked, eyes glittering. "But you will soon realize how age has worn you down."

A swirl of wind battered them all, courtesy of Jiraiya's interference. He'd conjured a partial toad flame, hoping to corner Orochimaru. But Orochimaru vanished in a swirl of leaves, reappearing behind the Hokage with lethal grace. A slash nearly struck the old man's ribcage, but he twisted away at the final second, staff flaring with a bright spark that forced Orochimaru to leap back.

Within that enclosed space, each movement rang out with near-deafening clarity. The four watchers around the barrier sustained their jutsu, ensuring no one got in or out. Orochimaru recognized the need to corner the Hokage alone. Jiraiya's presence complicated matters. He tried a cunning feint—slamming a palm to the ground, half-summoning a large serpent that bucked in the limited rooftop space, forcing Jiraiya to deflect. Meanwhile, Orochimaru surged toward the Hokage, blade angled for the kill.

But the Hokage spun, staff morphing mid-swing to a segmented pike, catching Orochimaru's blade. Sparks flew. The old man's eyes hardened. "I taught you better than to assume an easy victory," he said, forcing Orochimaru to break the lock. A short distance away, Jiraiya warded off the rearing serpent, slashing it with a blazing technique until it dispelled.

Down in the stadium, illusions began to fade as infiltration squads recognized the watchers they needed to subdue. The civilian portion was mostly unconscious or fled. Shinobi squads engaged, unleashing elemental collisions that tore the stone bleachers. In certain corners, the proctor and a few allied figures tried ushering survivors through an escape route. Elsewhere, watchers from other villages either retreated or joined the fight, depending on where their loyalties lay. The once-lively exam finals had become an inferno of betrayal.

Despite the growing conflict, the dais on which certain dignitaries had sat was now practically vacant, save for some hush of pinned or unconscious watchers. The infiltration squads stationed themselves near vantage points, monitoring for any new threats. War raged with deafening roars, both inside the stadium and in the distance where summoned creatures battered the village walls.

Amid all this, Gaara's group vanished into the labyrinth beyond. Some watchers speculated that soon he might reveal the beast within.

Within the barrier, the Hokage and Jiraiya moved in tandem, each covering the other's vulnerabilities. Orochimaru faced them with scorn, yet no small measure of caution. "Two against one," he drawled. "Does the old man lack the confidence to duel me alone?"

The Hokage snorted. "You orchestrated an entire invasion, betraying an allied village, all to corner me. If you expected a fair one-on-one, your sense of irony astounds me."

Jiraiya, stung by Orochimaru's words, simply braced. "We end this farce now," he muttered.

Suddenly, Orochimaru bit his thumb, swirling blood onto his palm, and slammed it to the rooftop, ignoring the limited space. "Kuchiyose…!" he hissed. A monstrous form began to manifest. Jiraiya cursed and rushed to intercede. The serpent that emerged was smaller than the usual giant summons but still formidable, coiled with glistening scales. It snapped its jaws, forcing both the Hokage and Jiraiya to leap aside. Orochimaru perched on its head, eyes gleaming with triumph.

"Your village is in flames," he gloated. "Any moment, Gaara's rampage will overshadow everything. Don't you see, sensei? The time of your rule is over."

The old man exhaled, forming his own set of hand seals. "Then let me show you the Will of Fire you mock." With an artful manipulation, he conjured a colossal earthen barrier, limiting the serpent's mobility. He and Jiraiya circled around, staff brandished, ready to strike. The serpent hissed defiantly, smashing the partial barrier, but each blow gave Jiraiya a second to approach from behind.

A pivot, a swirl of toad-based ninjutsu, and the serpent momentarily faltered as intense adhesive fluid pinned its tail. Orochimaru raged, flipping down from its head, seeking to slash at Jiraiya directly. The Hokage blocked mid-lunge, staff crackling with spiritual energy. Orochimaru sprang back, frustration contorting his features. The tension soared higher, with the future of the entire village riding on the outcome.

Below, portions of the stadium stands crumbled under relentless blasts. The infiltration squads seemed to sense the success of their mission. Some attempted to regroup for further infiltration into the village. Others tried to ensure no local shinobi escaped to hamper them. The proctor and a smattering of allies cleared pockets of unconscious or wounded bystanders, guiding them out a hidden exit corridor. Fires raged, illusions dissipated. Bodies littered the once-pristine field.

Some ways beyond, in a deserted yard near the stadium's outer annex, Gaara clutched his chest, staggering as though physically imploding. The partial transformation threatened to break free. He hissed, "I must… prove my existence… by killing them all." His aides wavered, debating if letting him fully transform here would be catastrophic. Perhaps they needed to move further from the stadium. Nevertheless, Gaara's mania seemed unstoppable.

Inside that violet barrier, the serpent reared, jaws wide. Orochimaru hopped back onto it, performing a conjured blade technique, forming a dreadful sword in his palm. Jiraiya and the Hokage read each other's signals, preparing a dual assault. The old man reformed his staff into an extended shape, while Jiraiya unleashed swirling flames from the side. The serpent howled in pained fury, thrashing about. Orochimaru, lips curled, advanced with the sword angled.

Their steel clashed. The rooftop's surface cracked under the strain. The barrier crackled each time an errant technique got too close, lighting the scene in eerie purple flashes. Orochimaru's expression flickered from glee to annoyance as the Hokage deflected a lethal thrust that nearly claimed Jiraiya's torso. Summoning all his might, the Hokage launched a punishing counterstrike. Orochimaru hissed, forcibly parrying. The stand-off continued.

Outside the barrier, an ANBU captain tried once more to pass through. Purple flames repelled him, forcing him to leap away with singed armor. The watchers realized there was no chance to intervene. Another figure, perhaps a jounin, approached from below, but the watchers shook their heads, explaining the barrier. They could only wait for the outcome.

Below, the infiltration squads triggered a few final blasts to demolish the stadium's integrity. Collapsing stone columns and high bleachers rained debris. Some allied defenders, rallying at last, began turning the tide in pockets, capturing or eliminating smaller squads. But the monstrous roars from outside the city told of giant summons attacking the walls. The entire village was in a dire predicament.

Back in that swirling confrontation, the Hokage realized stalling was dangerous. Orochimaru might unleash further horrors if given time. The old man signaled Jiraiya with a subtle nod. They launched a cooperative jutsu. The Hokage's staff extended to wrap around Orochimaru's waist, pinning him momentarily, while Jiraiya formed a swirling mass of energy in his palm—like a twisting orb of chakra.

Orochimaru's eyes widened minutely. He wriggled snake-like, barely slipping free, but the staff's tip grazed his side. Jiraiya's orb followed a hair's breadth behind, striking a glancing blow that inflicted a savage burn on Orochimaru's right arm. He yowled in pain, rolling across the rooftop. The serpent, wailing, vanished in a swirl of summoned smoke.

Staggering to his feet, Orochimaru's lips twisted in fury. "So you still have fangs, sensei. I can't wait to sink mine deeper." He drew in a breath, pushing up his sleeve to reveal the marred arm. A hideous grin formed. "But this day belongs to me, nonetheless."

A slight standoff followed, each side panting. The barrier crackled overhead. Light from the raging fires below cast flickering shadows. Jiraiya braced, certain that Orochimaru had more vile cards up his sleeve.

Elsewhere, the infiltration squads that had torched the stadium set forth into the city. Leaf shinobi, partially recovered from the illusions, mustered defenses. The rumbles of far-off giant creatures mingled with the roar of open conflict. Already, crumbling architecture testified to the scale of the assault.

On the rooftop, Orochimaru tested his burned arm's mobility, eyes shining with malice. The Hokage clenched his staff. "You forced a grand conflict, Orochimaru. This assault, your infiltration, your manipulations with Gaara. Have you truly cast aside every shred of decency?"

A hollow laugh. "To me, sensei, it's simply evolution. The strong survive, the rest become dust."

Even Jiraiya felt the toll, breathing heavily. The old man clutched a bruise on his side, courtesy of Orochimaru's blade earlier. Orochimaru, too, displayed subtle tremors, that burn on his arm draining his edge. But the malicious glint in his eyes told them he wouldn't relent.

From the vantage of any high place in the city, one could see black smoke billowing from multiple districts, presumably from the infiltration. The once triumphant finals were overshadowed by tragedy. Now, rubble, bodies, and spent weapons littered the coliseum. Blood spattered where once the floor was polished. In the stands, only the unlucky or unconscious remained, along with ephemeral illusions.

At some corridor or outer yard, Gaara's small entourage departed the premises entirely, aiming for higher ground or a forest clearing, presumably to let him complete the transformation. The instability in Gaara's eyes spelled doom for whoever might cross him next.

The stone corridor leading into the arena felt colder than usual, the echoes of distant screams bouncing off the walls. Naruto's sandals scraped against the rough floor as he walked with deliberate slowness. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his katana, his senses heightened. The air was thick with tension, an almost electric charge that told him something monumental had begun.

As he approached the end of the hall, the roaring cacophony of battle grew louder. The light from the arena spilled into the corridor, bathing his face in an eerie, flickering glow. He stepped forward, his shadow stretching long behind him.

When Naruto finally emerged into the open, the scene before him was chaos incarnate. The once-pristine arena had been reduced to rubble. Smoke spiraled into the air, obscuring parts of the stands, which now crumbled under the weight of destruction. Pockets of flame dotted the landscape, casting sinister shadows over the fighting shinobi scattered across the field. Civilians and lesser-trained genin either lay unconscious or fled toward distant exits, their screams blending into the din of clashing metal and roaring jutsu.

Naruto's eyes swept across the arena, sharp and calculating. He saw the remnants of Sayuri's battle with Gaara—the torn ground and lingering traces of sand. In another corner, he caught sight of figures clashing violently, their identities obscured by the dust and smoke. Above it all, his gaze was drawn to the rooftop where an ominous violet barrier pulsated, encasing the Hokage, Orochimaru, and others in its sinister glow.

For a long moment, Naruto stood still, his expression unreadable. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he gripped the hilt of his katana more tightly. His cerulean eyes gleamed with a mix of determination and foreboding as he took one step forward, then another.

His voice was calm, almost a whisper, yet it carried weight in the chaos around him.

"So it begins."