"Whoosh!"Natsume Yō suddenly materializes not far in front of the Uchiha chūnin. The chūnin glances—then Yō vanishes in a blink.
"Damn—so slippery!" the Uchiha mutters, frowning harder. He hadn't expected this kid to have actual battlefield sense.
Another crack in the air—he spins, throws a punch."Bam!"The blow connects with flesh; Yō curls like a shrimp and is sent flying, grimacing. The chūnin breathes easy—he's sure he hit the real thing.
"You keep using shunshin so recklessly—don't you know it chews through chakra?!" he gloats.
But his words die in his mouth. The Yō he just knocked away bursts into smoke—only a clone. The real Natsume Yō snaps into existence behind him, seals in a flash and snarls, "Wind Style — Wind-Cutting Technique!"
"What?!" the Uchiha chokes out, the hair on his neck standing on end. He knows exactly what that blade of wind can do. He frantically forms the signs and uses a substitution: the wind-blade slices a log dummy in half as the real blade screams past.
Still—Yō seems to have read him perfectly. No time to breathe: Yō explodes forward with a flurry of Leaf-Whirl techniques, each strike a sharp, disciplined thunderclap. The chūnin spits blood, staggered, utterly unable to answer.
A minute later, Yō finishes it—Lion Burst after Lion Burst—and the Uchiha is hammered into the dirt like a dead dog, his resistance broken.
"Ding!""Mission complete. +30 EXP, +50 gold." The System rings cold and efficient in Yō's head. Warmth floods his limbs like a well-earned prize; every movement tastes better, stronger.
Uchiha Yūsuke stares at Yō as if he's seen a ghost. "No way," he whispers, unbelieving.
"Natsume Yō," Yō says as he approaches Uchiha Jun'yi, face barely smiling, words lacquered with steel, "you picked on me enough. Time to settle old accounts.""Three days apart, and you should be treated like new—look at me properly now. You can't mess with me anymore. People might hold back because of your name—me? I don't."
Before Uchiha Jun'yi can finish his warning—"Natsume Yō, don't you dare—ah!"—a heavy fist lands right on his face. Vengeance is tidy and merciless: Jun'yi squeals and keeps squealing, beaten into a puffy mess, his genius smothered beneath a busted nose and bruised ego.
With Jun'yi thoroughly crushed, Yō's grin turns cold. He plants the Control-Soul Curse into Jun'yi's flesh—a quiet, ugly jolt that buries an absolute leash inside him. If Jun'yi ever talks about Yō, the curse will scrub the memories clean.
"Make you remember," Yō says with a snap of his fingers, standing up. "Now feel what it's like to cross me."