Magma Crosses the Field, a Stunning Finale

It wasn't just a "smash"—it was also a "pour."

The instant his fist struck the ground, magma surged from his knuckles and poured downward through cracks in the soil. Dense webs of fissures spread across the surface, dark red light glowing from within them.

Zero point three seconds.

The cracks radiated outward from Yan's fist, extending three meters.

Then—

It erupted.

Magma burst from every crack at once. It didn't seep out slowly; it blasted out under high pressure. Orange-red columns of molten rock shot half a meter into the air from the ruptured ground, exploding overhead.

A radius of three meters.

The turf was gone. The soil was gone. The rubble was gone. Everything that touched the magma was instantly melted into a charred, glassy shell.

The air filled with the smell of scorched minerals.

The heat was so intense that even those in the front rows of the stands ten meters away could feel their faces burning. One spectator covered his face and recoiled, knocking over the dumplings of the person beside him with his elbow.

Minato reacted zero point two seconds before the magma erupted.

A limit-breaking leap. The instant his feet left the ground, the spot where he had been standing became a steaming magma pit. The splashing magma ignited the hem of his clothes—a small cluster of orange flames. He slapped them out midair. A patch of his palm had been burned red.

The look on his face—

He was crazed.

The kind of crazed look one got upon seeing a mountain, an ocean, something beyond the limits of one's understanding—pupils dilating, adrenaline surging, pleasure seeming to seep out through every crack in his bones.

He laughed in midair.

There were three burned holes in his clothes, his right knee was bright red, his palm was blistered, and his hair had been blown into a complete mess by the heatwave.

Yet his smile was utterly radiant.

Yan drew back his fist and straightened.

The magma around him slowly cooled, hardening into a dark, glass-like crust. Amid the rising heat haze, his outline flickered in and out through the warped air.

He looked up at Minato in midair.

His voice was not loud. But the training ground was so quiet that one could have heard a pin drop, so every word carried far.

"If we keep going... the Third Lord's pipe is going to melt."

In the VIP stands,

Hiruzen Sarutobi lowered his head.

He glanced at the pipe in his hand.

—Damn it, it really was scorching hot.

He hurriedly set it on the table.

Minato landed.

The two stared at each other across a stretch of scorched earth. Within that three-meter radius, the ground looked like an abstract painting—black glassy crust, orange-red remnants of magma, half-melted rubble—as if someone had placed a miniature volcanic crater right in the middle of the training ground.

Minato stood at the edge of the scorched earth.

He looked himself over.

Three scorched spots. One burn-through. A bright red right knee. A blister on his left palm. His hair—best not to mention it.

Then he looked at Yan.

The man opposite him stood at the center of the solidified magma, his clothes spotless and his hair completely undisturbed. The one-millimeter cut on his chin was the only injury Yan had sustained throughout the entire battle.

Minato raised his right hand.

"I surrender."

The entire field—

"Huh?!"

Erupted.

The wave of noise surged upward from the lowest level of the stands. First came the murmurs among the examiners, then cries of shock from the family seating in the middle, and finally an outright uproar from the civilian section at the top.

"Surrender? Minato surrendered?"

"That loser won?"

"Are you blind? You still call that a loser? Why don't you go fight him, then?!"

"Uchiha Yan defeated Minato Namikaze—"

Minato ignored the noise around him. He smiled, his voice low but just loud enough for those nearby to hear.

"If we keep fighting, all my clothes will burn off. Graduating bare-chested would be way too embarrassing."

The corner of Yan's lips curved upward.

It was a very slight movement. If one had not been close, it would have gone unnoticed.

The examiner walked to the center of the field. His voice trembled—not from fear, but from the aftershocks of being profoundly shaken.

"Combat exercise—Uchiha Yan wins."

Applause broke out across the training ground. Scattered and hesitant at first—then denser, louder. In the end, it became an unbroken roar.

Not because they liked Uchiha Yan that much.

But because what they had just witnessed—deserved applause.

Respect for strength, and for the word genius.

From loser to genius—it was too damn thrilling!

The applause lasted around fifteen seconds.

The scorched earth on the training ground still radiated residual heat. In the area Uchiha Yan had blasted apart with a single punch, the soil had been burned into glossy black glass, and the scorched smell had yet to fade. Three Earth Release users had worked together for quite some time, yet still failed to completely fill that magma pit. At its bottom, an unnatural heat continued to rise, rapidly drying any soil placed over it and even producing faint wisps of white smoke. The land that had been baptized by molten rock was like a wound violently torn open, displaying to everyone the traces of a power beyond all convention.

The discussions in the stands had already escalated from whispers to open debate. It was no longer mere surprise, but investigation and confusion. Some analyzed the nature of Uchiha Yan's ability, arguing over whether this was truly Magma Release or some even rarer mutation of a bloodline limit. The air was filled with barely restrained curiosity, as well as an instinctive fear of unknown power. More people kept turning over the same question in their minds—"That loser who came in last every year... just how deeply had he been hiding himself?" What had begun as ridicule had now become serious contemplation.

In the VIP stands, the reactions of the four people formed a perfect political spectrum. Hiruzen Sarutobi relit his pipe, the ember of burning tobacco flickering faintly between his fingers. On the surface, he remained perfectly calm, his customary mask of "kindness" still in place. But deep within, the chessboard of his mind had silently rearranged itself. Uchiha Yan's value as a piece had risen sharply. From "worth observing" to "must be controlled." Hiruzen Sarutobi knew that an Uchiha who possessed such power and had concealed it for twelve years could not possibly have an ordinary mind or ordinary ambitions. He decided that, immediately after graduation, he would activate the special authorization and firmly bind this child to the ANBU ranks. An anomaly that could not be seen in the light was best left to live forever in the shadows, serving Konoha.

Uchiha Fugaku's reaction was the most obvious. The lines of his facial muscles were taut, yet indescribably complex emotions churned in his eyes—surprise, concern, and above all, the blazing pride and ambition of the Uchiha, reignited once more.

Examiner: "Next match—"

The ordinary process continued as usual. The following matches proceeded one after another, their level returning to the range of a "normal graduation exam." Several fairly talented students put on respectable exchanges, and the examiner gave a few "excellent" evaluations. There was applause in the stands as well, but it was far more sparse.

It couldn't be helped.

A masterpiece had come first. No matter how delicious the food that followed was, the taste of what came before still lingered in their mouths.