Just as Akira began to show signs of faltering on the battlefield, the sharp eyes of the Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, caught the shift in momentum. But rather than disappointment, a quiet admiration flickered within the old warrior's heart. For a boy so young to stand toe-to-toe against Pakura of the Scorch Release—a deadly kunoichi whose name brought terror to even seasoned jonin—was nothing short of astounding. Hiruzen had never expected Akira to win this fight. To merely hold Pakura at bay for a time would have sufficed. That he had lasted this long, crafting an intricate game of deception with his shadow clones and Sharingan, had already exceeded the Third Hokage's hopes.
"The boy... he fights like a veteran," Hiruzen murmured under his breath, parrying an attack from his own opponent, Elder Rasa of the Sand.
Akira's skirmish with Pakura was not merely a distraction—it was a crucial pivot in the grand choreography of this battlefield. His effort bought precious minutes for the Leaf Village's leadership to focus on their adversaries without the threat of Pakura tilting the scale with her devastating Scorch Release techniques.
But as Akira's clone numbers began to dwindle, the Third Hokage realized the tide could shift at any moment. His gaze flicked to the sky briefly, then to his disciples, Jiraiya and Orochimaru. With a subtle twitch of chakra and a hand sign no one but his apprentices would recognize, he sent them a silent command: End your battles. Quickly.
Jiraiya, ever the battle-hardened sage with a mischievous heart, caught the signal while fending off a flurry of attacks from Elder Ebizo. Though the aged tactician of the Sand was clever, his strength and speed paled in comparison to Jiraiya's might, especially now that time was no longer on his side.
"Well," Jiraiya muttered, dodging a wire-trap with ease, "Sensei wants to wrap things up. Let's not keep him waiting."
He clasped his hands together and slammed them to the ground. A puff of white smoke erupted with a resounding bang, shaking the earth beneath their feet. The smoke parted to reveal a towering presence—a mountain-sized toad clad in a kimono patterned like yakuza robes, a short tanto strapped across his back, and a long pipe dangling from his lip.
"Gama-bunta!" Jiraiya called as he landed deftly on the toad's head.
The enormous creature squinted at Jiraiya, then gave a snort of amusement. "Heh. You're summoning me for this guy? Jiraiya, are you going soft in your old age?"
"He may look frail, but that old man's smarter than he lets on. Let's finish this before someone else gets hurt," Jiraiya replied.
With a curt nod, the two launched their signature combo—Toad Oil Flame Bullet.
Gamabunta expelled a torrent of thick, flammable toad oil from his gullet while Jiraiya weaved signs rapidly, gathering fire chakra. A split-second later, a wall of scorching flame ignited in the air, merging with the oil to form a blazing inferno that swept across the field like a tidal wave of fire.
Ebizo's puppet, the one mimicking his own body, was instantly engulfed. Wood and cloth blackened and curled, metal parts exploded from the heat. The fire roared forward with no sign of abating. Hidden underground, the real Ebizo gasped as the searing heat began baking the earth around him.
He had no choice but to abandon his position and burst from the soil, choking on ash and sweat. "Tch... just as I feared. He forced me out."
High above, Jiraiya smirked. He'd suspected from the start that the elder had been playing puppet master from the shadows. With the field now cleared, he leapt down, landing in front of the panting Ebizo.
"You should've stayed retired, old man."
Jiraiya struck swiftly, disabling Ebizo with a precise chakra strike before binding him with sealing tags.
On the other side of the battlefield, Orochimaru danced in a slow, deliberate circle with Chiyo, her ten puppets weaving and spinning with deadly elegance. But age was not kind to the human body, and Chiyo, nearing sixty, could no longer sustain the rapid, high-intensity puppet maneuvers for extended periods.
Orochimaru watched her hands closely. The slight tremble in her fingers, the fraction of a second delay between her thoughts and the puppets' responses—all signs that fatigue was setting in.
"You're weakening, Chiyo," Orochimaru hissed with his serpent-like voice, eyes gleaming. "Your strength is history, and I'm the future."
Chiyo gritted her teeth. Her hands jerked, sending her puppets to form a defensive barrier. She'd shifted entirely to a defensive formation, but her coordination faltered.
Orochimaru took advantage immediately, using a combination of Substitution Jutsu and elongated Kusanagi strikes to disrupt her formation. One puppet fell. Then another. And another.
Within moments, only four remained.
Though her lips didn't move, Chiyo's thoughts were filled with grim acceptance. "This... might be the end."
Meanwhile, down below, the morale of the Sand Village shinobi was crumbling.
The towering Gamabunta, the fall of Ebizo, the increasingly desperate defense of Chiyo, and the relentless pressure from the Leaf shinobi all converged like a tide crushing a sandcastle.
From somewhere in the ranks of Konoha, a young chunin shouted:
"Look! They're falling back! Hokage-sama is winning! For the Leaf!"
The cheer spread like wildfire. Konoha shinobi surged forward with renewed fervor, forcing the Sand forces into retreat.
Kazekage Rasa, still locked in battle with the Third Hokage, growled in frustration.
"Damn it... Ebizo and Chiyo are faltering... and Pakura hasn't finished that brat yet?"
Sarutobi, seeing the shift, pressed forward. With a smirk tugging at the corner of his weathered mouth, he taunted:
"It seems your forces are at their limit, Kazekage. Perhaps now is the time to reveal your hidden trump card. Or do you intend to surrender like a rational leader?"
Rasa's brow twitched. He knew what had to be done.
Without another word, he formed a hand seal and fired a chakra signal into the sky. A burst of golden sand shimmered high above the battlefield, its glow visible even in the daylight.
Far behind enemy lines, where a group of elite Sand shinobi stood guard over a large, unconscious figure, the signal arrived.
The figure, bound in a sealing formation and unconscious, was none other than Bunpuku—the One-Tail Jinchuriki, host of Shukaku.
The sealing team stiffened. One among them, a veteran jonin, glanced toward the horizon.
"Kazekage-sama is signaling to unleash the beast. Are we really doing this?"
The oldest among them, a monk-like man with tattoos on his face and prayer beads around his neck, exhaled slowly. It was Bunpuku himself, having awoken from the shifting chakra in the air.
"As expected," he said softly. "Rasa-sama wishes to gamble with the demon."
Even though his eyes were weary, there was no hatred in his tone. Only a resigned calm.
"Let Shukaku out," the squad leader commanded. "The battle demands it."
Back near the frontlines, hidden beneath a small rise in the landscape, Akira—the true Akira, not one of his clones—watched the movements with narrowed eyes.
He had concealed himself with an expertly executed Earth Release technique, only the glint of his Eternal Mangekyo Sharingan peeking through a slit in the soil.
He saw the chakra of the Sand sealing team begin to stir. He felt the violent pulse of Shukaku's presence pressing against its restraints.
"So," Akira whispered to himself, a cold grin forming. "They really are going to release Shukaku."
His heart pounded with anticipation. This had been part of his calculation all along. Pakura, though strong, was merely a distraction. His true concern had always been the potential release of the tailed beast. And now, it seemed, the main event was finally beginning.
Akira flexed his fingers, already preparing the hand signs for his contingency plan. He'd gathered enough chakra while lying in wait. The real battle was about to begin.
"Time to move," he murmured, vanishing silently into the earth.
For the battlefield was about to change.
And Akira, with his Sharingan gleaming like twin eclipses, was ready to shape its future.