The final round of the year-end tournament had arrived.
Excitement buzzed through the academy like a live wire. Students, instructors, and even a few curious jōnin gathered around the sparring grounds, eager to witness the culmination of the elite class's intense year of training.
The format was straightforward—a bracket-style sparring tournament. Each student would face off against another in one-on-one combat. Losers were eliminated, and each round carried weighted points that would determine the final class rankings. First place would gain the most points, while an early elimination meant walking away with nothing.
When the brackets were revealed, the room stirred.
The first match? Tokasu Nara vs. Izumin Uchiha.
It was a matchup that set the tone for the entire tournament. Two heavy-hitters. One born of careful calculation, the other of natural talent and legacy.
Match 1: Tokasu Nara vs. Izumin Uchiha
Izumin stepped onto the platform with cool confidence, the faint red glow of his Sharingan already shimmering in his eyes. He adjusted his gloves with the ease of someone who knew victory was expected of him. The Uchiha had shown strong performances in every round leading up to this moment. His taijutsu was fluid, his fire-style jutsu explosive, and his Sharingan allowed him to predict even the subtlest movements.
Tokasu, by contrast, looked unimpressive. His posture was relaxed, even slightly slouched. His hands were in his pockets. His expression unreadable.
"Try not to blink, Nara," Izumin said with a smirk. "Wouldn't want you to miss your own defeat."
Tokasu sighed. "You're going to run your mouth even when you lose, aren't you?"
The proctor signaled. "Begin!"
Izumin moved first, blurring forward in a burst of speed. His Sharingan eyes locked onto Tokasu's body, watching for the slightest shift in muscle tension. A right hook came flying—clean and fast. Tokasu barely dodged, leaning just out of range before sliding backward to create space.
From the sidelines, the students murmured.
"He's too slow for Izumin."
"Why doesn't he fight back?"
But Tokasu didn't react emotionally. His hands moved through signs slowly, deliberately. From beneath him, shadows began to stretch outward.
Izumin smirked. "Predictable."
He leapt back and fired a quick succession of Fire Style Jutsu, sending a scatter of fireballs in an arcing spread. Tokasu countered with a flick of his wrist—the shadows around him swelled and lifted, forming a dome-like shield that absorbed most of the flames.
But Izumin wasn't done. The moment Tokasu raised the shield, Izumin closed the gap again, this time ducking low and spinning into a sweeping kick aimed at Tokasu's legs.
Crack!
Tokasu stumbled back, the attack landing cleanly. Izumin pressed forward with a barrage of strikes—each one fluid, each one read and refined through the power of his Sharingan. Every shadow technique Tokasu tried was swiftly dodged or countered. The gap between them in close combat was undeniable.
Even the instructors began to exchange concerned glances.
"He's being outmaneuvered…"
"Did we overestimate the Nara boy?"
Izumin grinned. "Too slow. Too obvious. Your clan's tricks won't help you here."
He launched forward with a final combo, aiming a powerful palm strike at Tokasu's chest. But the moment his hand landed—
Nothing.
Tokasu dissolved into smoke.
A shadow clone.
Izumin's eyes widened. "Tch—"
Behind him, a whisper.
"Shadow Stitch."
Thin tendrils of shadow burst upward from the floor behind Izumin, aiming to pierce him through like needles. But the Sharingan flared again. Izumin spun mid-air, twisting around the attack with acrobatic grace, landing with barely a scratch.
"Nice try."
Tokasu reappeared on the opposite end of the arena, breathing steadily, hands in his pockets again.
"You almost had me there," Izumin admitted. "But you'll have to be better than almost."
He lunged again.
Another sequence of blows.
More fire jutsu.
Tokasu dodged, defended, fell back. From the outside, it looked like he was barely holding on, always on the edge of defeat. Even Sayaka narrowed her eyes from the crowd.
But Yuki watched in silence.
He saw it.
Every dodge. Every retreat. Every missed attack.
Tokasu wasn't panicking.
He was guiding.
The Nara heir was slowly, meticulously forcing Izumin into specific zones of the battlefield—corridors of shadow that had been extending, widening, creeping unnoticed beneath their feet since the match began.
Izumin prepared another jutsu, confident he'd broken Tokasu's defense for good.
But just as he formed his seals—
His body froze.
His arms refused to move.
His fingers stopped mid-sign.
Click.
Beneath him, a long line of shadow connected seamlessly with Tokasu's own. The trap had been sprung.
Izumin's eyes flared wide. "What—?!"
Tokasu walked toward him slowly, his voice low and calm.
"You've been so focused on predicting my attacks… you didn't realize I wasn't attacking."
He extended his hand, forming a shadow kunai.
With precise control, the shadow around Izumin raised his arm, mimicking Tokasu's movement.
The kunai pressed gently against Izumin's neck.
The proctor immediately raised a hand. "Match over! Winner—Tokasu Nara!"
The crowd erupted.
Shock. Amazement. Even awe.
Izumin's sharingan faded as he stood there, speechless. He hadn't seen it coming. Tokasu had manipulated the battlefield from the first move, playing the long game, enduring the punishment, waiting for the one opening he needed.
And just like that, the first match ended—leaving behind a stunned silence before the crowd erupted into excited chatter. Tokasu Nara, the quiet genius, had just outwitted one of the most feared prodigies in the class. The upset shook the bracket and set an impossibly high bar for every match to follow.
Unfortunately, the next few rounds failed to rise to the occasion.
While the fights were technically solid and showcased plenty of budding talent, they lacked the same edge-of-your-seat suspense. The crowd's energy dipped slightly, and even the instructors found themselves checking their match notes instead of watching too closely.
That was until the next star-studded matchup was called:
"Sayaka Senju vs. Hideki Hyuga."
Suddenly, the crowd buzzed back to life. Students leaned forward. Even some of the older jōnin stepped closer to the edge of the observation deck.
Two powerhouses.
The Senju and Hyūga—two of the most legendary clans in Konoha's history—were about to clash.
Sayaka Senju had already turned heads with her sheer chakra reserves. Her taijutsu was brutal and relentless, a storm of precise strikes and explosive movements that left most sparring dummies in pieces. Though her chakra control was still developing, her raw power made her one of the most dangerous opponents in the class. She wasn't just flashy. She was overwhelming.
Hideki Hyūga, on the other hand, embodied everything the Hyūga clan stood for. Calm, controlled, and graceful in combat. His Byakugan gave him near-absolute vision in battle, and his mastery of the Gentle Fist style allowed him to shut down his opponents' chakra points with surgical accuracy. His movements were elegant, flowing like water—yet every step carried lethal intent.
As the two stepped onto the sparring platform, the crowd fell into an anticipatory silence.
Sayaka rolled her shoulders. Her gaze was focused, almost calm, but the slight flicker of lightning at her fingertips betrayed her rising excitement.
Hideki bowed politely, then lowered into a Gentle Fist stance, one foot sliding behind the other, fingers splayed and poised.
The proctor glanced at both of them, then raised a hand.
"Begin!"