Chương 85: The Third Phase of the Chunin Exams III: The Duel

In the heart of the arena, the scattered remnants of the previous skirmishes had been swept away. Shinobi weaponry was a costly investment, and neither team was wealthy enough to leave their steel behind; money in the hidden villages did not grow on trees. Though the tools were gone, the scars of ninjutsu remained—deep furrows and scorched patches that marred the earth. A few Anbu specialists, proficient in Earth Release, stepped forward to weave signs, flattening the terrain with a practiced efficiency.

Minato Namikaze watched the waiting room. He knew that within those walls sat two of the most brilliant minds of the Leaf's new generation. This supplementary exam had likely been conceived by the Hokage as a tonic for a grieving village, a way to lift the heavy shroud of war. But the moment Shisui Uchiha registered as a solo entrant, the stakes shifted. The village leadership had countered by thrusting Dongye Zhen into the fray.

What appeared on the surface to be a grand stage for two prodigies was, in the shadows, a proxy battle of wills between the administration and the Uchiha Clan. Minato was more than just a preeminent shinobi; he possessed a keen political intuition. He sighed inwardly at the convoluted friction between the village elders and Konoha's most prestigious house. If he ever achieved his dream of becoming Hokage, he wondered if he would ever truly be able to untangle such a web.

The mere thought was enough to bring on a premature headache.

"Well then, time to give these two the floor," Minato mused. He turned toward the waiting area and beckoned.

"Step down! It's your turn!" Zhen stood, adjusting his gear.

"Let's go, Shisui. Our turn to play."

"Right," Shisui replied, his voice low, though he couldn't entirely mask the tremor of suppressed excitement in his tone. As they reached the center, Minato's voice rang out with a gravity usually reserved for higher ranks.

"State your names!"

"Dongye Zhen."

"Uchiha Shisui." It was a formality the previous teams hadn't been granted. As their names were broadcast through the arena's amplification seals, a ripple of recognition turned into a roar.

"It's them!"

"The rumors were true..."

"The Twin Heroes of the Eastern Front!" To the commoners, the nuances of politics didn't matter. They only saw the legends made flesh. A tidal wave of acclaim swept through the stands, the roar of the crowd nearly deafening. Minato looked at the pair, his gaze lingering on Shisui. The boy's heritage reminded him of Obito, yet they were polar opposites; where Obito was a lovable, hot-headed fool, Shisui was a prodigy of chilling precision.

Obito had earned his hero's title on the fields against the Stone, but it had cost him his life. Grow well, young Uchiha, Minato thought. He personally held no malice toward the clan, and he hoped this new hero wouldn't be consumed by the fire he carried. In the VIP box, the Daimyo watched with a feathered fan to his chin.

"Oh? Is this not a team confrontation? Why are there only two?" The Third Hokage leaned in, his voice steady.

"They are solo entrants, my Lord. The two most exceptional talents of our new generation. I believe their performance will more than suffice." If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"Is that so? Then I shall look forward to it. Ho-ho-ho." Beside him, the Daimyo's heir harbored darker thoughts. If such talent could be bent to his personal will, if these "monsters" acknowledged him as their true sovereign... would Konoha even need to exist? Real peace, he felt, only came when the blade was in one's own hand. Sensing the atmosphere had reached its boiling point, Minato extended his right arm between the two boys.

"Let your duel begin!" With a swift downward slash of his hand, he vanished in a flicker, ceding the stage. Zhen and Shisui performed the Hand Seal of Confrontation. Shisui broke the silence first.

"Zhen, from the moment we met, I knew you were in a different league. Back at the Academy, I could always tell you were holding back. I've spent every waking moment since then pushing myself—mastering the nature transformation tips you gave me, perfecting the clan's hidden arts... everything." He tightened his grip on his resolve.

"I've always wanted to know exactly how far behind I am. Today, I think I'll finally get my answer."

"A stirring speech," Zhen replied, a smirk playing on his lips.

"So why the delay? Show me what that effort has bought you." The air between them fractured. Simultaneously, they leapt backward, their hands blurring toward their holsters. Eight shuriken hissed through the air. Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! The steel collided in mid-air with surgical precision. Both boys had infused their weapons with Wind Release chakra, propelling the blades at speeds that defied the untrained eye.

To the audience, it was merely a series of silver flashes followed by the crisp ring of clashing metal. Zhen's style was devoid of flourish—it was raw, clinical speed. Shisui's nature transformation wasn't as refined as Zhen's, but it was enough to keep his steel from being sheared in half. However, as an Uchiha, he didn't play fair with projectiles. Four additional shuriken, hidden in the shadows of the first volley, curved mid-flight, arcing from the flanks to pincer his opponent.

Zhen lunged forward, clearing the trap and closing the gap. He drew the short blade from his back, the steel singing as it swept toward his friend. Shisui met the strike with his own tanto. Both blades hummed with chakra, the blue glow protecting the metal while whetting the edges to a razor's sharpness. The duel descended into a frantic dance of blades. Shisui's two-tomoe Sharingan bled into view, granting him terrifying kinetic vision and neurological response. He moved like a ghost, his blade a silver blur.

Zhen, though lacking the "Cursed Eyes," moved with a fluidity born of natural energy. His reflexes, honed by constant exposure to the world's rhythm, met every thrust and parry with effortless grace. Recognizing that he couldn't break Zhen in a contest of pure swordplay, Shisui felt a spark of defiant frustration. Faster. I need to be faster. He knew his stamina and chakra reserves were dwarfed by Zhen's; a war of attrition was a losing game.

With a desperate parry, Shisui knocked Zhen's blade aside and flicked his left hand. Four kunai hissed out to check Zhen's advance as Shisui's fingers blurred through a sequence of seals. Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique! Zhen batted the kunai aside only to find a massive sphere of roiling flame expanding toward his face. In his eyes, the inferno was moving in slow motion. Zhen had always found mouth-spawned offensive jutsu to be somewhat clunky.

However, for the sake of the audience and to give the "Great Fireball"—a move that famously never hit anyone—a win for once, he didn't dodge. He stood his ground and braced for the impact. The flames swallowed him whole. A collective gasp went up from the stands, followed by a cacophony of panicked shouts.

"No way!"

"He didn't move!"

"The hero just killed his own friend!" Minato's feet shifted slightly, but he held his position. He didn't intervene. As the fire dissipated, it revealed Zhen standing unscathed. He was encased within a shimmering, spherical dome of pale blue chakra. Minato watched the defense with genuine fascination. Before the exams, he had studied the dossiers on Zhen's custom-developed techniques. To witness it firsthand was another matter entirely.

It was an elegant, high-level defense—practical, but the learning curve for such chakra control had to be astronomical. Maybe I should stick to the Rasengan derivatives, Minato thought dryly. He already had the name picked out for his next project: Spiraling Flash Super Round Dance Howl Fourth Stage: Wind Arrow Sword Dance. He still hadn't managed to fuse the wind nature into it, which was becoming a bit of an embarrassment.

The shinobi in the crowd watched the blue shield with envy; they knew how difficult such a feat was. The civilians didn't care about the difficulty; they only cared that the hero was alive. The roar of the crowd returned, louder than ever. To them, the spectacle of a boy standing inside an explosion was worth every second of their time.