"The first match of the preliminaries!" Hayate Gekkō's voice, the proctor's, rang out in the great hall, punctuated by his chronic cough. "Sasuke Uchiha versus Yoroi Akadō! The rest of you, head up to the top balcony!"
The crowd of genin moved as a single entity, a wave of murmurs and anticipation flowing up the stairs to the gallery that encircled the arena. The tension was an electric hum in the air. Down below, in the center of the vast stone floor, the two combatants stood alone, two islands in a sea of silence.
Kakashi Hatake paused for a moment beside his student before heading up with the others. His hand rested briefly on Sasuke's shoulder, an uncharacteristically serious gesture.
"Sasuke."
The Uchiha turned, his face a mask of cold impatience.
"Is your head clear?" Kakashi asked, his voice a low murmur, devoid of its usual laziness.
"I'm fine," Sasuke replied sharply, pulling his shoulder away.
"Good. Then forget about Orochimaru. Forget about Gaara. And forget about your team," Kakashi stared at him, his one visible eye reflecting an intensity Sasuke had rarely seen. "Down there, it's just you and him. Nothing else matters. Show me what an Uchiha is made of."
Sasuke didn't answer. He didn't need to. Kakashi's order wasn't a restriction; it was a release. It was the permission his pride craved: to fight for himself alone, without the complications of the team, without the shadow of the Sannin.
He walked to the center of the arena, his steps echoing with a frigid confidence. Yoroi Akadō waited for him, an arrogant smirk on his face. He was taller, broader, and his eyes, half-hidden by his Grass Village headband, shone with the certainty of a predator that has already scented blood.
On the balcony, the Konoha group watched, each processing the scene in their own way. The space felt strangely empty without Naruto's shouting.
"Come on, Sasuke! Crush him!" Kiba yelled, and Akamaru barked energetically from inside his jacket. "That guy doesn't stand a chance! Sasuke's on another level!"
"Your optimism is deafening, Kiba," said Shino Aburame, his voice as monotone as ever. "Underestimating an opponent is the first step to defeat." His insects were informing him that Yoroi's confidence was not baseless.
"Don't be a buzzkill, Shino," Kiba retorted, though he lowered his voice slightly. "I'm just saying what everyone's thinking."
"I'm not thinking that," Shikamaru interjected, leaning on the railing with a bored expression that hid a sharp analysis. "His confidence isn't normal. He made it this far, just like us. That means he's not some common thug. What a drag, now I'll have to pay attention."
Ino chewed on her lip, her concern genuine. "Do you guys think he'll be okay? He looks… so tense."
Sakura gripped the stone railing, her knuckles white. She wasn't cheering. She was analyzing. Her Analytical Eye was already active, not by conscious decision, but by instinct. She studied Yoroi's stance, the distribution of his weight, the way his chakra, though not immense, flowed with an unsettling stability.
Hinata, beside her, did the same. Her Byakugan flared to life for an instant, an almost imperceptible flash.
"His chakra network is dense around his arms and hands," she whispered, for Sakura's ears only. "He specializes in hand-to-hand combat. And his flow is steady, no spikes. He's conserving energy."
"I see it," Sakura replied in the same low tone. "There's something strange about the way he's holding his palms open… It's not a striking stance. It's a grappling stance."
"Begin!" Hayate's voice gave the signal.
The battle exploded without preamble.
Sasuke was a burst of speed. A black blur that crossed the distance in the blink of an eye. His taijutsu was a storm of precision, the Uchiha's Intercepting Fist style at its finest. A punch, a spinning kick, a low sweep. Each movement flowed into the next, a sequence designed to overwhelm and finish.
His Sharingan, with its single tomoe, was active. To him, Yoroi's clumsy attempts to block were telegraphed, slow and predictable movements. He dodged a straight punch and countered with an elbow to Yoroi's side. The impact was solid, a dry thud that echoed in the arena.
"Is that all you've got?" Sasuke said, his voice dripping with disdain.
Yoroi grinned, unfazed by the blow. The pain was an irrelevant distraction.
"I'm just getting started, Uchiha brat."
Instead of backing away, Yoroi lunged forward, closing the distance, getting inside Sasuke's guard. He ignored a punch aimed at his face, taking the impact on his shoulder, and instead, placed his open palm on Sasuke's chest.
Sasuke felt the contact. And then, he felt the void.
It wasn't pain. It was an unnatural, violating sensation. It was as if an invisible vein had been opened and his very life force was being siphoned away. He felt his chakra, his energy, flowing out of him like water down a drain, absorbed by Yoroi's hand. A sudden dizziness hit him, and for an instant, his muscles felt as heavy as lead.
He leaped back with a snarl, breaking the contact, his heart hammering in his chest.
"What…?"
"My special skill," Yoroi said, flexing the fingers of the hand that had touched him, savoring the stolen energy. "I can absorb my opponent's chakra. Your famous Uchiha clan is nothing without its energy, is it?"
Rage replaced Sasuke's confusion. He was using his own power against him!
"You bastard!"
He put distance between them, his hands flying through a series of seals at a speed most of the genin couldn't follow.
"Katon: Gōkakyū no Jutsu!"
A massive ball of fire roared across the arena. The heat was intense, distorting the air.
"That's it! Burn him up!" Kiba yelled from the balcony.
"Idiot," Shikamaru muttered. "He's giving him exactly what he wants."
Yoroi, rather than being intimidated, just smiled. He dodged the fireball with surprising agility, using the smoke and steam as cover to close the distance again.
Sasuke saw him coming with his Sharingan, but the feeling of weakness, the chakra drain, had slowed his reflexes by a fraction of a second. Yoroi reached him. His hands latched onto Sasuke's arms, his palms pressing against his skin.
The emptying sensation intensified. Sasuke cried out, a mix of pain and frustration, as he felt his power, his heritage, being stolen from him. Yoroi threw him aside as if he were a rag doll.
Sasuke landed hard, rolling across the stone floor. He pushed himself to his knees, panting. Sweat beaded on his forehead. The world was spinning.
"See?" Yoroi taunted, walking slowly toward him. "Without his chakra, he's nothing more than a scared little boy."
On the balcony, Kiba's confidence had evaporated.
"What's happening? Sasuke can't move right! He looks like he's suffocating!"
"He's stealing his chakra," Shikamaru said, his face serious for the first time. "Every time Sasuke uses a jutsu, Yoroi uses it as an opportunity to get closer. And every time he gets closer, he steals more energy. It's a perfect counter. It's a trap designed to nullify ninja like Sasuke. What a drag."
Sakura watched, her mind working at a feverish pace. Her Analytical Eye wasn't just watching the fight; it was dissecting it. She saw the flow of Sasuke's blue chakra being absorbed and channeled into Yoroi. She saw how the energy concentrated in Yoroi's hands, swirling in his palms.
Wait a moment, she thought. The flow… it's not general. It's specific. The chakra isn't entering his whole body. It's entering through his hands. And only his hands.
"His chakra is concentrating in his palms," Hinata said beside her, her Byakugan confirming Sakura's theory. "It's the only point of absorption. His arms, his legs… the chakra there is purely defensive. The technique is localized."
"Which means if he doesn't touch Sasuke with his open palms, he can't steal anything," Sakura concluded, her voice filled with a rising urgency. The weakness. It was right there, clear as day.
Down below, Sasuke was on the ropes. He stood up, his body trembling with rage and exhaustion. The humiliation was a poison worse than Orochimaru's. To be defeated like this, in such a… parasitic way. To see his teammates on the balcony, watching his failure. The image of Gaara, of his absolute power. The image of Sakura shattering the ground and of Hinata moving like a ghost. It all swirled in his mind.
No. I will not lose. Not here. Not in front of them.
Yoroi lunged again, his open palms ready for the finishing blow.
"Sasuke-kun!" Sakura's cry echoed in the arena, clear and precise. "His hands! He can only absorb with his palms! Don't let him touch you with them! Force him to block with his arms!"
Sakura's warning cut through the air. On the balcony, Kiba blinked. "What? How does she know that?"
Shikamaru smirked faintly. "Of course. She was analyzing him. What a drag to be so predictable."
Sasuke heard the warning. For an instant, his Uchiha pride screamed at him to ignore it, to win on his own terms. But the pain, the weakness, and the crushing logic of his impending defeat were undeniable. He saw Yoroi closing in. He saw the smug grin on his face. And he made a decision.
Trust.
The rage he felt wasn't against Yoroi. It was against his own weakness. It was against the frustration of being outmatched. That fury, pure and concentrated, channeled into his eyes.
A sharp pain, like white-hot needles, exploded behind his eyelids. The world, already clear under his Sharingan, became impossibly sharp. Time seemed to slow to a near standstill. He saw every speck of dust suspended in the air. He saw the tension in every muscle fiber of Yoroi's arm. He saw the flow of chakra swirling in his palms with almost three-dimensional clarity.
In the reflection of a puddle of sweat on the floor, he saw his own eyes. The single black comma in each pupil was now joined by a second.
The second tomoe had awakened.
Yoroi launched his attack. Sasuke was no longer there.
With a burst of speed Yoroi couldn't register, Sasuke ducked and spun, using Sakura's warning as his new strategy. He no longer avoided contact; he controlled it. He shot forward in a flurry of taijutsu so fast and aggressive that Yoroi was forced onto the defensive.
Sasuke didn't attack his chest or his face. He attacked his forearms, his shoulders, his legs. Every strike was a precision missile designed to force Yoroi to block with any part of his body that wasn't his palms. The two-tomoe Sharingan didn't just let him see Yoroi's movements; it let him predict his defensive response.
"What are you doing?" Yoroi growled, backing away, frustrated that he couldn't get a solid grip. Every time he tried to place his palm, Sasuke had already moved, striking a different point.
Sasuke didn't answer. He saw an opening. An instant when Yoroi, blocking a high kick, left his torso exposed. Sasuke shifted his kick in mid-air, using his foot as a pivot to propel himself forward.
He landed right in front of Yoroi, too close for the other man to react. His left hand clamped down on Yoroi's shoulder like a claw, immobilizing him. His right hand became coated in visible fire chakra.
"Fire Style: Rising Flame Palm!"
It wasn't a fireball. It was a detonation. A point-blank, concentrated blast of flames that erupted from his palm. The impact launched Yoroi through the air, his clothes smoldering, a choked cry of pain escaping his lips.
He crashed on the other side of the arena, a smoking heap.
But Sasuke wasn't finished.
He landed with predatory grace next to his opponent's motionless body. The rage, the humiliation, the frustration of the past days… it all channeled into one final act.
He stood over Yoroi and, with a choked cry that was more of a growl, stomped down with all his might on the man's chest. The sound of cracking ribs was audible even on the balcony.
Yoroi convulsed and then lay still, a pool of blood beginning to form beneath him.
"That's enough!" Hayate Gekkō's voice finally cut in as he appeared between them. "The winner is Sasuke Uchiha!"
Sasuke stood over Yoroi's body, his chest heaving. The Sharingan deactivated, and the world returned to its normal speed. He was exhausted, his chakra nearly depleted, but a cold, terrifying sense of power filled the void.
On the balcony, there was total silence. Kiba's mouth hung open, speechless. Choji had stopped eating his chips. Ino was pale, a hand covering her mouth.
"That was… brutal," she whispered.
"That was unnecessary," Shikamaru said, his usual laziness replaced by genuine concern. "The match was already over."
Sakura watched, horrified by the final brutality, but also with a strange sense of validation. Her plan had worked. He had trusted her. And the result was terrifying. She felt a chill. This wasn't the victory she had wanted for him.
Hinata, however, saw something more. With her Byakugan, she saw the darkness swirling in Sasuke's chakra, a shadow that the victory hadn't dispelled, but fed. It felt cold, even from a distance.
Sasuke didn't look at his team. He didn't acknowledge Sakura's help. He didn't look for anyone's approval. He simply turned and walked toward the arena exit, his face a mask of cold victory.
I don't need their secret, he thought, every step a reaffirmation. I don't need their help. I'll find my own path. Through strength.
The test was over, but Sasuke Uchiha's real battle had just begun.