Three days later.
Yan and Minato's second spar.
The same place. The outskirts of Training Ground 44. But this time, they moved to a more remote area—the clearing from last time had been utterly wrecked, and the training ground manager had sent several letters of complaint to the ANBU.
This time, neither of them exchanged pleasantries.
The moment Minato arrived, he began setting up Flying Thunder God kunai. This time, there were not twelve—there were twenty-four. Doubling the number meant twice as many teleportation anchors at his disposal and vastly greater tactical flexibility.
"You doubled them?" Yan asked as he watched Minato run around the field, driving kunai into the ground.
"Twelve weren't enough last time. Your reaction speed is too fast. The combinations possible with twelve anchors weren't complicated enough, so you figured out several of my landing points through logic." Minato drove the last kunai into a crack between tree roots. "With twenty-four, there are millions of possible combinations. Let's see how you calculate that."
"I don't need to calculate."
"Hm?"
"I told you last time. I'm not reading your position. I'm reading your intent. You could set up a thousand anchors, but as long as you have a direction in mind, I can catch it."
Minato brushed the dirt from his hands and stood. He looked at Yan seriously.
"What if I don't have a direction in mind?"
Yan's expression shifted slightly.
"What do you mean?"
"I came up with something over the past three days." A dangerous light gleamed in Minato's eyes—the light unique to geniuses, the kind that only appeared when they had thought of a crazy idea.
"The problem with Flying Thunder God: Second Stage is that before teleporting, I have to decide on a target anchor in my mind. That decision creates an