Takeshi stood motionless, the bells still gently clinking at his side. His posture was loose, almost casual, but his gaze was razor sharp.
The most dangerous one is Yuki, he thought. Did that old man seriously allow a kid to learn that jutsu?
It was a question that lingered like smoke in the back of his mind—but he didn't have time to dwell on it.
Movement.
The first strike came from Tokasu.
A flare of chakra ignited several tags, forming a glowing semicircle behind Takeshi. Without hesitation, shadows erupted outward—thin and precise, stretching along the ground like the limbs of something alive, curling and twisting in from all sides. The boy himself stepped out of the brush, calm and methodical, already weaving hand seals.
Classic Nara technique. Controlled. Coordinated.
Takeshi didn't move.
Not yet.
The shadows converged, slithering toward his feet. Tokasu's chakra signature spiked—this was a serious attempt, not a feint.
Takeshi exhaled.
Let the boy think he had control.
Let the trap close.
Then, with one smooth step, he turned—his cloak fluttering—and released a precise burst of chakra that cracked through the clearing like a whip. The shockwave tore through the shadows, destabilizing the jutsu in an instant.
The tendrils flickered, then disintegrated into mist.
Before the smoke had even cleared, Takeshi was gone.
He reappeared behind Tokasu in a blur, so fast it looked like the air bent around him.
"Too predictable."
His voice was quiet but heavy with finality.
He struck.
A clean palm to the back—measured, controlled, but unrelenting—drove Tokasu off his feet. The boy hit the ground hard, skidding through a patch of underbrush before slamming into a shrub and collapsing into a sprawl of limbs and smoke.
He groaned, stunned, the shattered remains of his chakra tags fluttering down around him like burnt leaves.
Takeshi didn't even glance down at his fallen student. His eyes were already moving—calculating, ready for the next challenger.
Sayaka didn't waste the opportunity.
She came in like a lightning bolt, chakra already surging along her arms. She'd waited for that exact moment—the briefest turn of Takeshi's back.
"Raiton: Jinrai Geki!" she shouted, lightning exploding outward in a white-hot arc.
But Takeshi didn't even look her way.
He moved just before the strike landed, ducking under the blast, spinning and grabbing her wrist mid-attack.
"Well-timed," he muttered, "but telegraphed."
He yanked her forward, slamming her into the ground with a controlled toss. She hit hard, coughing as the lightning sputtered uselessly into the dirt.
Tokasu was up again, launching a wave of shadow needles to follow up, Sayaka charging again beside him.
Together, they attacked.
And together, they failed.
Takeshi danced through their movements, precise and unrelenting. A kick knocked Sayaka back. A kunai deflected Tokasu's blade. Feints, blocks, misdirection—Takeshi's experience outclassed them in every way.
They dropped to one knee again, panting.
Takeshi adjusted his stance slightly, bells still jingling softly. "You're strong," he said. "For ten-year-olds."
That hit harder than any strike.
"You've trained well. You've learned jutsu most genin don't touch until they're twice your age. But none of it changes what you are."
He looked at them with grim clarity. "You've never bled in a real fight. Never seen a mission go wrong. Never watched a teammate die because you hesitated. The world is cruel. And power without perspective is a liability."
Sayaka clenched her fists, fury bubbling under her skin. Tokasu said nothing, but his brow furrowed deeply.
And then it happened.
The sound of wings.
Crows—dozens of them—burst from the treetops, swirling downward in a great cyclone of feathers. They whirled around a single tree, chaotic and eerie, until all at once, they converged into a single point.
The air shimmered.
Takeshi's eyes widened. Just slightly.
Impossible…Itachi?
And then—Yuki appeared.
He stood calm and still within the heart of the crows, blade resting across his back. His eyes, pale and cool, met Takeshi's.
Then, as quickly as he appeared, he was gone.
One crow darted toward Takeshi. He threw a kunai with practiced instinct—
THWIP—BOOM!
The bird exploded into smoke.
From the cloud, Yuki erupted forward, sword blazing with frostfire, slashing down in a roaring arc.
Steel met steel as Takeshi blocked the blow, smirking. "There you are."
From behind, Sayaka groaned. "Is he seriously aura farming right now?"
Tokasu blinked. "What does that even mean?"
Neither got the answer.
A crow landed softly on each of their shoulders.
They flinched—until they heard it.
Yuki's voice, low and clear, whispering directly into their ears.
"Listen. The test was never about the bells. It's about defeating the enemy. Together."
Sayaka blinked in disbelief. "Is that... him?"
"Using crows as communication relays," Tokasu muttered.
All the while, in the clearing, Yuki dueled Takeshi alone.
He was good—fast, fluid, and unpredictable. The frostfire sword left streaks of white flame behind every swing. He used body flicker expertly, blinking in and out of vision, narrowly avoiding lethal counters.
But Takeshi wasn't phased.
A strike caught Yuki in the ribs.
Another clipped his thigh.
He stumbled, chest heaving, blood trickling from a split lip. Still, he pressed on, spinning low, trying to force an opening.
"You're quick," Takeshi admitted, parrying a blow. "But not enough."
His elbow crashed down—Yuki just barely flickered away in time.
One more hit and it would be over.
But then—
Sayaka's lightning roared from the treeline.
Tokasu's shadows surged forward, twisting like snakes.
Yuki gave a small grin.
Perfect timing.
The three rejoined the fight as one.
And the real test began.