Makima and Minato were now deep into their third and final year at the Academy. The tournament grounds buzzed with the low, excited chatter of clan elders, instructors, and the gathered students. This annual mock combat tournament was the most important event of the year, a single-elimination bracket designed to test everything from basic Taijutsu to Basic Ninjutsu. It was the moment where theoretical knowledge gave way to practical application under pressure.
For Makima, the air crackled not with nerves, but with a rare, cold anticipation. The months of rigorous, private training had transformed her Uzumaki vessel into a weapon of devastating physical potential, yet she had kept this raw capability veiled behind the illusion of gentle, calculated effort. This tournament, fought under public rules, was the only place she could unleash that carefully measured physical dominance without resorting to the unseen, overwhelming power of the Control Devil. Her goal was not merely to win, but to display flawless, repeatable perfection.
The First Round: Taijutsu Focus
The initial rounds enforced a strict Taijutsu focus, eliminating any reliance on elemental jutsu or explosive power. Makima's body, honed by constant internal commands for optimization, moved with a terrifying, economical grace that belied her petite frame.
Her first opponent was Torune, the loud, boisterous boy who had sworn to protect her. Torune advanced with a flurry of undisciplined but powerful swings, his aggression a predictable outburst of chaotic adolescent will.
Makima did not waste energy on wide dodges. She shifted. Her movement was minimal—a half-step here, a subtle lean there—her defense an impenetrable geometry. She allowed Torune's energy to dissipate harmlessly around her, absorbing the kinetic reality of his attack and redirecting its momentum back towards its source. Torune quickly found himself tangled in his own limbs, his weight awkwardly positioned and his mind scrambling to understand where his attack had gone wrong.
He is predictable, therefore, he is weak, Makima analyzed internally. The path of least resistance is the path to destruction.
Makima seized the brief, exposed window. She delivered a crisp, precise side kick to his ribs. It wasn't brute force; it was perfect physics. The impact point was a focused nexus, sending Torune skidding out of the ring and into the dust with a painful, winded grunt. He was defeated not by superior power, but by superior calculation.
The crowd gasped in quiet awe. It wasn't the strength of the kick that chilled them, but its perfect placement and the complete lack of wasted motion. Makima offered Torune a small, apologetic bow before returning to her corner. Her breathing was unchanged, her golden eyes already scanning the bracket, having mentally processed and discarded Torune as a variable.
Minato Namikaze's match was equally swift but utilized a completely different philosophy of victory. His opponent was a sturdy Hyūga branch member who relied on the clan's defensive Taijutsu stances. Where Makima used perfect defense to set up a crushing counter, Minato used superior speed to negate the need for defense entirely.
Minato didn't engage in a power struggle. Instead, he moved in a dizzying circle. He wasn't fast in a blurring, flashy way; he was efficient. Every step was perfectly optimized, a geometrical marvel designed to cover maximum distance in minimum time. He didn't wait for his opponent to fail; he used his motion to manufacture failure.
He spotted a critical half-second opening—a slight shift in the Hyūga's center of gravity caused by a moment of focusing too heavily on Minato's blur. Minato darted in, covering the final meter instantly, and delivered a non-lethal chakra-infused palm strike that was not meant to crush, but to momentarily disrupt the body's internal equilibrium. The Hyūga boy gasped, his diaphragm spasming, leaving him immobilized and winded.
Minato won by submission in under twelve seconds. It was absolute control achieved through pure, dazzling speed and timing.
Makima watched from the sidelines, a thin, pleased smile playing on her lips. Minato was not just an anomaly; he was a natural variable—a source of chaos whose internal actions were driven by logic, yet whose external execution remained impossible to manage or predict. He was the perfect puzzle she had to solve, and she was happy to spend her efforts on him. His victory was the perfect counterpoint to hers: Makima's Calculus of Force vs. Minato's Calculus of Time.
Kushina sat in the audience, vibrating with nervous energy. Makima had subtly reinforced Kushina's belief that she was too chaotic for these controlled bouts, keeping her out of the early, unforgiving Taijutsu rounds to focus on elemental Ninjutsu later.
When Minato won, achieving his flawless, respectful victory, Kushina sprang up, her red hair flying like a banner. "Yeah! Minato! You showed that Hyūga how it's done!" she yelled, cheering for his correctness.
Then, when Makima won, crushing the boy who had sworn loyalty to her, Kushina cheered just as loudly, jumping higher than before. "Makima! That was perfect! Amazing control!" she praised her sister's dominance.
She sat back down, a look of confused anguish on her face, leaning back against the wooden barrier. The internal conflict was a genuine, delightful source of emotional chaos for Makima to observe.
"Who am I supposed to cheer for most?" she muttered to herself, pulling at a strand of her hair. "Makima's my sister, and she's so calm and perfect, but Minato's so… correct. They're both the best, but in totally different ways!" The seed of an emotional dilemma—choosing between the comforting anchor of Order (Makima) and the appealing challenge of technical Correctness (Minato)—was taking firm root in her heart.