In the private viewing section reserved for visiting jōnin instructors, Kurama Sayuri watched her student's retreat with a satisfied expression. Her arms were crossed, and her lips curved in the faintest hint of approval.
"The fight ended much faster than I expected," she said. "I expected Mio to at least force him to reveal more. Instead, he ended it before the fight truly began."
Sarutobi Taeko sat beside her, "Mio still managed to defeat my student Ryo. That is nothing." He paused, his gaze lingering on Satoru's distant form. "But his genjutsu is on another level. Even experienced shinobi would have difficulty noticing when it was cast." He shook his head slowly. "I wish Ryo had access to such powerful genjutsu. A technique like Satoru's would completely change how he fights; it would give him the ability to control the battlefield instead of always reacting."
Sayuri's voice was calm. "Satoru did not inherit that ability. He built it. That is the difference between talent and creation."
Taeko was silent for a moment. Then he nodded.
"Next match! Maki Arashi of Sunagakure versus Rin Nanami of Sunagakure!"
The crowd's excitement surged. Two Suna finalists, two representatives of the host village, fighting each other. The spectators expected a real battle after the disappointment of Satoru's genjutsu victory; they wanted to see their own shinobi clash, to witness the strength of Suna's bloodlines.
In the jōnin section, Uchiha Rina leaned forward, her dark eyes gleaming. "This might finally be an interesting match."
Daichi chuckled. "This stage of the Chūnin Exams is different from earlier rounds. Everyone knows elimination is possible. Because of that, shinobi stop holding back." He paused. "Or they conserve their strength for a more important fight. We will see."
Maki and Rin walked into the arena. The crowd cheered; loud, enthusiastic, expectant.
They took their positions. The proctor raised his hand.
"Begin!"
Rin did not move. She simply raised her hand, her voice carrying across the arena.
"I forfeit."
Silence fell like a physical weight. The crowd's cheers died in their throats; the spectators stared in disbelief. Maki's expression flickered; surprise, perhaps, or annoyance. The proctor stepped forward, confirming.
"Rin Nanami has voluntarily surrendered. Winner: Maki Arashi."
The arena erupted; not in celebration, but in anger.
Suna civilians shouted their frustration; their voices rose in a wave of disappointment. "What was the point of coming if they will not fight?" "Five finalists, and now only three remain!" The complaints were sharp, cutting, a reflection of the audience's wounded pride.
Satoru watched from the viewing platform. The tournament seems strangely predictable, he thought. Every village that dominates the numbers loses them quickly. It's like having more people jinxes you.
He calculated the remaining finalists. Starting count: Suna had five, Konoha three, Kusa two, Ame one. After the first matches: Shigan had advanced, Maki had advanced, Mio had been eliminated, Rin had forfeited, and Kaito was still waiting to fight.
Ren leaned over, his voice low. "Maybe Suna is conserving strength. Rin probably knew she had a low chance against Maki. Fighting would reveal more of her abilities and risk injury for no gain."
Mariko nodded slowly. "It makes sense strategically. Losing resources unnecessarily is pointless. Suna is thinking beyond individual fights; they are protecting their strongest assets."
Satoru's voice was flat. "Or they are afraid of what Maki would reveal if she had to fight seriously."
The announcer returned, his voice cutting through the lingering tension. "Next match! Sarutobi Mariko of Konohagakure versus Souta Kazuki of Amegakure!"
The arena's reaction was muted. Neither fighter was from Suna; the crowd's emotional investment was minimal. The cheers were polite, but the energy was gone.
Mariko stepped forward, her expression calm. Ren clasped her shoulder. "Good luck."
Satoru's voice was quiet. "Be careful. Souta is unpredictable."
Mariko nodded. "I know."
She walked toward the arena, her steps steady, her gaze fixed on her opponent. She could feel the weight of the crowd's eyes; not the enthusiastic support of a home crowd, but the cold assessment of observers who were waiting to see if she would succeed or fail.
Souta Kazuki, she thought. Unknown liquid metal ability. Possible Storm Release variant. He let his opponent cut him repeatedly to spread his substance; he is willing to take damage to win.
She had studied the intelligence reports. She knew his patterns; the way he created distance, the way he baited opponents into attacking, the way he used his liquid to control the battlefield.
She also knew his weakness; he was patient, but not infinitely so. He relied on his opponent making mistakes. If she did not make mistakes, he would have to escalate.
I will not give him time to prepare, she decided. I will force him to react from the first moment.
Souta walked into the arena from the opposite entrance. His dark coat was hooded, his rebreather covered the lower half of his face, and his hands were hidden in his sleeves.
Mariko met his gaze; his eyes were dark, unreadable, the eyes of someone who had seen violence and was not afraid of it.
The proctor raised his hand. "Begin!"
Mariko attacked first. She formed a single seal and compressed wind bullets shot from her mouth.
"Fūton: Wind Bullets!"
The projectiles screamed across the arena, fast and precise, designed to overwhelm his defences. They were not meant to kill; they were meant to force movement, to break his rhythm, to establish her control of the engagement.
Souta reacted instantly. He drew a kunai from his sleeve and sliced across his forearms; not deep enough to wound, but deep enough to release the dark liquid that pooled beneath his skin. The substance flowed outward, spreading across his arms, his chest, his hands. He raised his arms, and the liquid solidified into a shield; a dark, shimmering barrier that absorbed the wind bullets.
The projectiles struck, but the shield held. The liquid rippled with each impact, absorbing the kinetic energy, dispersing it across its surface. Mariko's wind bullets did not break through; they simply splashed against the liquid and dissipated.
His liquid can change shape instantly, she realised. Offence and defence are the same technique. He does not need to switch between modes; he just reshapes what is already there.
She adjusted. Instead of continuing her barrage, she charged while making a hand seal, and her shadow clone appeared, continuing toward Souta while she hung back.
The clone closed the distance, its kunai aimed at his throat. It moved with the fluid grace of Sarutobi-style taijutsu; fast, aggressive, unpredictable.
Souta dissolved the shield. The liquid flowed from his arms, reforming into spikes that shot toward the clone. The clone dodged, rolling, coming up in a crouch.
Mariko, from a distance, formed another seal; "Fūton: Great Breakthrough!"
A massive wind blast slammed into the spikes, destroying their trajectory, sending them flying harmlessly across the arena.
The shadow clone reached Souta. It attacked; a flurry of punches, kicks, and kunai strikes, each one precise, each one aimed at a vital point. Souta blocked with liquid armour; the substance wrapped around his limbs, absorbing the blows, reshaping into weapons that lashed out at the clone.
The clone adapted. It feinted high, then struck low; it twisted to avoid a liquid blade, then countered with an elbow strike. Souta struggled; he could not focus on offence while maintaining liquid manipulation. Every time he tried to attack, the clone was already moving, already countering.
Souta's frustration became visible. His movements grew sharper, more aggressive; he was no longer content to wait. He created clones of his own; two figures of liquid, their forms shifting, their movements unnatural. They lunged toward Mariko's clone, their arms extending into blades.
The clone threw multiple kunai. One liquid clone was destroyed; it collapsed into a puddle, its chakra dissipating. The second reached the clone and exploded into a spray of dark fluid, coating the clone's body. Mariko's shadow dispelled, its chakra disrupted, its form dissolving into smoke.
He is escalating, Mariko thought. He is starting to feel the pressure.
She did not give him time to recover. She formed another seal; "Fūton: Wind Blade!"
A compressed crescent of wind sliced toward Souta, forcing him to retreat. Then another, and another; each one aimed at his feet, his shoulders, his exposed hands. She was not trying to hit him; she was trying to force him to move, to expend energy, to reveal his patterns.
Souta dodged, but his movements were less fluid than before. The liquid was still flowing, still responding, but it was slower, less precise. He was running out of time.
He made a decision.
He raised his arms, and the liquid spread across the arena; a tide of dark substance that flowed toward Mariko, covering the sand, the rocks, the walls. Lightning chakra crackled through the liquid; blue-white arcs that hissed and popped, turning the battlefield into a trap. The dark liquid attacked from multiple directions; rising in waves, forming into tendrils, reaching for her with hungry purpose.
The crowd gasped. Mariko appeared trapped; the liquid was everywhere, the lightning was building, and Souta was advancing with a cold, determined expression. The Rain genin had committed everything to this attack; his chakra reserves were low, his concentration was absolute, and his victory seemed inevitable.
Mariko's expression did not change. She formed a hand seal; calm, deliberate, expected.
She knew he would do this, Satoru thought, his Sharingan tracing the chakra patterns. She planned for this moment. She let him commit.
"Fūton: Great Breakthrough!"
A massive wind explosion erupted from Mariko's palms; a wall of force that pushed the liquid away, creating a bubble of safety in the centre of the storm. She directly overcharged the jutsu, making it more powerful than before. The lightning flickered, its connections broken, its power dispersed. The liquid tendrils recoiled, their momentum shattered.
Then another of her shadow clone appeared.
It had been hiding in the displaced air, waiting for this moment. It formed its own seal; "Fire Release: Dragon Flame Bomb!"
A torrent of flame roared from the clone's mouth, its heat intensified by the wind, its range expanded by the pressure. The fire and wind combined, creating a massive explosion that engulfed the arena.
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