The Match Begins, Undercurrents on All Sides

The noise in the arena dropped a few notches, but it did not fall completely silent.

It was not that they wanted to stay noisy. The delegations from every nation simply could not stop whispering among themselves.

In the Hidden Sand observation section, a jonin in a hood flipped through an intelligence scroll twice. He looked up at the entrance tunnel, then lowered his eyes to the scroll again.

"Nawaki Senju, twelve years old, a Wood Release awakener. The report says, 'Suspected beginner-level Wood Release'—"

His companion cut in, "What kind of beginner-level Wood Release can wipe out fifty Hidden Stone shinobi alone? Those idiots in Intelligence should have three months' pay docked."

Hidden Cloud Village was even more direct. A bald, burly man stared at Nawaki for ten seconds, then turned and said something to the person beside him.

His voice was not loud, but it carried the distinctive roughness of the Land of Lightning. It could be heard from twenty meters away. "Write this down. That redhead is the Nine-Tails' jinchuriki. That Senju brat stole her away."

The Hidden Mist delegation was the quietest. Three people sat in a corner with blank expressions, but all of them held pens and wrote continuously on paper.

Nawaki took in every one of those gazes.

The Sage Body's sensory range covered the entire arena. Every probing fluctuation of chakra was crystal clear. The three villages had sent at least eight sensory-type shinobi between them, all secretly scanning the amount of chakra he possessed.

Go ahead and scan. You still won't get an accurate reading.

He ignored them and led Kushina Uzumaki and Mikoto Uchiha to the Konoha contestants' waiting area.

At the center of the stands, the Third Hokage rose to his feet.

He was not holding his pipe. Dressed in full Hokage robes, with his hat pulled low, he wore an expression that had been carefully mixed—thirty percent solemnity, thirty percent benevolence, and forty percent I'm still the one calling the shots in this village.

"Fellow shinobi, honored envoys from distant allied nations—"

The Third Hokage cleared his throat and began.

He spoke of the Will of Fire. Of passing on the flame. Of Konoha's glorious history. Of the First Hokage's ideals in founding the village.

He went on for a full seven minutes.

In the stands, Konoha's shinobi wore serious expressions. Not because they were listening, but because they did not dare look anything less than serious.

In the waiting area, Kushina yawned and had the back of her head pressed down by Nawaki.

"Hold it in."

"Can't he say a little less...?"

"No. I fleeced him for three commercial streets last night. If he doesn't win back some face today, he won't be able to sleep."

Mikoto sat to Nawaki's right, her gaze sweeping across the waiting area opposite them.

Six people sat in the Uchiha Clan section. She knew five of them. The man at the very front had a square face, thick brows, and an old blade scar on his chin—Tekka Uchiha. Fugaku's cousin. Two years ago, during a joint Anbu exercise, he had broken the ribs of three Konoha chunin. His methods were exceptionally vicious.

Tekka was looking at her too.

It was neither anger nor contempt—it was a cold appraisal, like a butcher looking at meat on a chopping block.

Mikoto withdrew her gaze.

The Third Hokage's speech finally ended. The applause was sparse. The Hidden Sand people clapped twice before stopping, while Hidden Cloud Village did not clap at all.

The chief examiner entered the arena.

It was not Orochimaru. It was an unfamiliar special jonin, wearing the emblem of the Hokage's direct command on his chest. Someone the Third Hokage had replaced at the last minute.

"Rules for the main tournament: one-on-one elimination matches. Lethal forbidden techniques are prohibited. A surrender immediately ends the match. The arena referee has the authority to terminate a match."

The chief examiner finished reciting the rules stiffly, then turned and pointed to the electronic lottery board on the arena wall.

"The draw begins."

Names began to scroll.

The waiting area fell silent. Everyone watched the board.

Nawaki watched as well. But he was not watching for his own name.

A system panel flickered in the corner of his vision.

[Notice: Fugaku Uchiha has been detected applying external interference to the lottery system. Probability shift target: Mikoto Uchiha.]

Nawaki narrowed his eyes.

They had rigged it.

From the corner of his eye, he glanced toward the stands. Fugaku sat at the highest point of the Uchiha Clan section, his right hand resting on the armrest, his index finger tapping in a steady rhythm. He looked completely at ease.

The board stopped.

First match—Mikoto Uchiha VS Tekka Uchiha.

The murmuring throughout the arena instantly erupted.

"Uchiha fighting Uchiha?"

"Didn't Mikoto break off her engagement to Fugaku? So this is—"

"Cleaning house. What good end could an Uchiha Clan traitor possibly have?"

In the waiting area, Mikoto's expression did not change. But Nawaki noticed that the index finger of her right hand curled slightly—so subtly that it quickly returned to normal.

Nervous.

That was normal. She was not afraid of losing. She was afraid she would not win cleanly enough.

In the waiting area across from them, Tekka stood up.

The moment he rose, he glanced toward the stands. Fugaku's index finger stopped tapping, and he gave a slight nod.

Nawaki saw everything.

"Mikoto."

Mikoto turned to look at him.

Nawaki extended his right hand, palm up.

Mikoto froze for half a second before placing her left hand in his.

Wood Release chakra passed through their palms. Not much—only a thread. But that thread traveled once through her chakra pathways, smoothing out every slight disturbance in her chakra flow caused by tension.

It felt just like when he had repaired her Sharingan that night—warm, steady, like a hand pressed over her heart.

"Tekka only has a Two-Tomoe Sharingan. His taijutsu favors strength, and his left knee has an old injury." Nawaki withdrew his hand, speaking quickly. "He isn't here to beat you. He's here to cripple you. Fugaku's intention is—if he can make you lose face in front of the entire shinobi world, great. If he can't take you back, then cripple you."

Mikoto's eyes changed.

Not with anger. With a chill that seeped from her very bones.

"I know."

"Don't hold back."

"I won't."

Nawaki patted her shoulder, neither too hard nor too softly.

"Go tell them that the Senju Clan is not for the Uchiha Clan to discipline."

Mikoto stood. There was not a single wrinkle on her fitted Anbu uniform. The two short blades at the back of her waist did not sway as she walked—Nawaki had asked Sakumo to help her adjust their placement.

She walked toward the center of the arena.

In the stands, Minato Namikaze sat beside Jiraiya. He was not looking at Mikoto. His gaze had remained fixed on Kushina.

Kushina was leaning over the railing and shouting at Mikoto, "Go, Mikoto—! Beat that bastard to death—!"

Her voice was loud enough for half the arena to hear. The nearby Konoha shinobi all turned to look.

Minato's hand clenched over his knee.

Jiraiya glanced at him. "Don't tell me you're still thinking about that redhead."

"I'm not."

"It's written all over your face."

Minato said nothing. He bit his lip and shifted his gaze toward the arena.

In the arena.

Mikoto and Tekka stood facing each other fifteen meters apart.

A faint smile rested on Tekka's lips. It was not mockery—it was certainty. His right fist slowly rose, his knuckles cracking.

"Lady Mikoto." His voice was not loud, but the arena's acoustics allowed everyone to hear him clearly. "The clan head asked me to deliver a message."

Mikoto did not respond.

"Come back. The engagement will proceed as before. What happened before will be forgiven."

Mikoto's hand fell onto her sword hilt.

"And then?"

"There is no then." Tekka's smile vanished as he opened his eyes—his Two-Tomoe Sharingan spun within his pupils. "This is your final chance."

In the stands, Fugaku's index finger began tapping again.

In the waiting area, Nawaki leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other.

Mikoto's voice carried from the arena. It was quiet, steady.

"Tell Fugaku for me."

She drew her blade.

The sound of steel leaving its sheath rang especially crisp through the silent arena.

"The Senju Shadow does not accept charity from the Uchiha Clan."

Her Three-Tomoe Sharingan lit up.

Tekka charged.