Chương 82: The Hand-Picked Rival

Dongye Zhen leaned back into his seat, his posture a study in calculated lethargy.

"Say, Shisui... what if I just stepped back outside and rounded up every single mission scroll? We wouldn't have to sit here and rot for hours." Shisui chuckled softly.

"You can't be serious. What point would the second phase even have if you did that? Besides, if you find this such a chore, why bother with the exams at all? With the merits you've earned, you could have bypassed this entire circus."

"Pot calling the kettle black, isn't it? Why are you here?"

"Orders from Lord Fugaku," Shisui admitted with a wry smile.

"See? We're in the same boat. Anyway, let's skip the existential dread. Did anyone try to roll you for your scroll on the way here? How'd you handle it?"

"A few," Shisui said, his voice as mild as a spring breeze.

"I just walked past. A simple clone to misdirect them was enough. This rank means a lot to those seniors; I didn't want to bruise their pride or waste their chakra. It would only make their later trials harder." Zhen shook his head.

"You truly are a gentle Uchiha."

"Zhen, when you say it like that, it makes me think you actually flattened the teams that came for you."

"Perish the thought. But instead of worrying about the small fry, you should look to yourself. You know as well as I do that the board has been set. We're bound to collide in the final round. Are you ready?" A spark of genuine fervor lit Shisui's eyes.

"I've been ready. I've looked forward to a true bout with you for a long time. The Chunin Exams... it's a fitting stage." It was a stark reminder: no matter how refined or affable an Uchiha appeared, at their core, they belonged to a lineage of warriors. They were a clan of combatants. While their hair didn't turn gold or blue when their friends were struck down, they were perfectly capable of manifesting spiritual titans to level a battlefield.

Zhen thought of the audience—the Daimyo, the nobles, the high-ranking bureaucrats who would be watching.

"It's a grand stage, certainly. Just try not to lose; I'd hate for you to go home and get a lecture from Fugaku on my account." Shisui's expression went flat.

"..." The moment of profound shinobi bond, thick with the weight of fate, had just been reduced to the stakes of a playground scrap. Nearby, several proctors felt their brows twitching in unison. Respect the sanctity of the exams, you arrogant brats! they screamed internally. Why was there no tension? Why did the scroll hunt, designed to be a grueling test of survival, seem like a casual stroll through a garden to these two? It was a world of genius they simply couldn't fathom, and frankly, they found it insulting.

As the hours bled away, the atmosphere outside shifted from quiet tension to frantic desperation. The more observant teams had secured the remaining scrolls, only to find themselves besieged—ambushed from the front and pursued from the rear. Eight scrolls had dwindled to six. With fifteen teams vying for them, the math was brutal. Blood was spilled, and a chaotic melee erupted on the steps of the central building. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

This was the unofficial preliminary. Only those who survived this crucible earned the right to step into the Leaf's grand coliseum and showcase their prowess to the village. The proctors were forced to intervene repeatedly, not to judge, but to act as safety nets. Unlike the multi-national exams, this internal affair forbade lethal force. These were comrades, after all.

If the examinees started dying, the "Will of Fire" would look less like a guiding philosophy and more like a pyre—and Konoha was not the Hidden Mist; it didn't trade in slaughter. Eventually, four teams emerged from the dust, scrolls in hand, to finalize their registration. Only four? Two scrolls had been spitefully destroyed. Two veteran teams, realizing they were beaten, had opted for a scorched-earth policy: If I can't have it, no one will. It was a move born of pure, petty vindictiveness.

In the field, denying an enemy a mission objective was commendable. In an internal village exam, it was a confession of character failure. Unsurprisingly, both teams were slapped with severe censures. Their standing in the shinobi registry plummeted. It was a safe bet they would never see a promotion for the rest of their lives. A ninja who could not protect the objective was a failure; a ninja who acted out of pure selfishness was a liability the village could not afford to elevate.

Zhen and Shisui listened as the head proctor used the two teams as a cautionary tale of "what not to do." Zhen couldn't help but roll his eyes. Are these people actually morons? Once the dust settled, the Third Hokage appeared.

"Congratulations to those who have passed the second phase. I am heartened by the strength and discipline you've shown. You are the future of the Leaf, and the Will of Fire shall endure through you!"

"Long live the Will of Fire!"

"Long live Lord Hokage!" The Genin below erupted in a fever of patriotism, their blood singing with the desire to begin the third phase immediately. Zhen joined the cheering, his face a perfect mask of youthful exuberance. The secret to survival in the Leaf was knowing when to blend into the crowd. The head proctor wheeled out a chalkboard.

"The third phase will take place five days from now, on September 7th, at the central arena. This will be a series of team-based confrontations. Matches have been pre-arranged based on your evaluated skill sets. Use the next five days wisely." Zhen scanned the board. The matchups were fixed, no pretense of a random draw. He was slated for the final bout. His opponent? Shisui Uchiha. The two boys exchanged a glance. Neither was surprised. The establishment didn't even bother to hide the strings anymore.

Hiruzen gave a final nod.

"Dismissed. Return home, rest, and ensure you greet your matches with your full strength." As Zhen and Shisui exited the grounds, they were met by Yunmi Gekko and his teammates.

"Zhen, Shisui! I assume you both cleared it?" Yugao asked eagerly.

"With these two? It was never in doubt," Hayate answered for them.

"So, who are you facing in the finals?" Yugao noticed the long look the two boys shared and gasped.

"Don't tell me... the only two solo entrants are paired against each other? What are the odds?" Zhen shrugged, palms up.

"Shocking, isn't it? Just a total coincidence." Yunmi Gekko glanced at Shisui, his eyes knowing.

"As expected. Come, let's go. You have a few days to prepare for more than just a simple duel." That evening, over dinner, Dongye Hui brought up the exams. Though she found the Hokage's insistence on Zhen's participation redundant given his war record, she remained a mother first.

"So, Zhen, who is your opponent?"

"Shisui."

"Ah... that boy." Hui's expression shifted, her tone becoming uncharacteristically sober.

"You know, there are some strange rumors circulating in the village lately."

"Rumors?" Zhen asked, setting down his chopsticks.

"People are whispering about the cost of the war. They say the administration was too lenient with the Sand's surrender, and that the peace treaty with the Stone is taking far too long. There's a growing sentiment that Lord Hiruzen is becoming... indecisive in his old age. That he isn't securing the benefits Konoha deserves." She leaned in slightly.

"People are already discussing the succession. Lord Fugaku's name has been mentioned quite often as a potential candidate for the Fourth Hokage." Zhen offered his mother a thin, knowing smile.

"And that, Mother, is exactly why my opponent is Shisui Uchiha."

"Honestly," Hui sighed, her dissatisfaction clear.

"Why does it always have to be you?"