The coliseum buzzed with tension. The dignitaries from across the elemental nations murmured in anticipation as the final matches of the Chūnin Exams began. Below, the arena's sand had been smoothed once again, waiting for new footsteps to carve lines of destiny across its surface.
Hinata Gin sat beside Takama, her hands folded in her lap. She leaned slightly toward the sound of the crowd, her senses reaching out—not with sight, but with soul. Every heartbeat, every sharp inhale, vibrated against her awareness.
"They're beginning," she whispered.
Takama nodded. His arms were crossed, his expression impassive. But inside, his thoughts moved like stormwinds through bamboo.
First Match: Naruto Uzumaki vs. Neji Hyūga
Takama Gin stood silently in the arena stands, his arms crossed, senses sharpened to unnatural levels by the merging of Michel's soul. Every breath, every twitch of muscle from the fighters below, every whispered murmur in the audience reached him. His samurai instincts, honed over decades and now enhanced by spiritual clarity, assessed every movement with ruthless precision.
Hinata Gin, seated with quiet poise, watched with her soul rather than her eyes. In her world, only emotions and intentions painted the field—she saw currents of feeling, not faces.
The match began with Naruto charging ahead, boldly shouting, "I'm going to win no matter what!" His voice rang with unshakable determination. Takama allowed a faint smile to cross his face at the boy's spirit.
Neji activated his Byakugan, his white eyes focusing coldly. Takama immediately noticed the shift: Neji's stance firmed, his chakra pathways visible to his own sight. "Efficient," Takama thought. "Cold precision."
Naruto hurled kunai toward Neji, then leapt forward for close combat. Takama's enhanced senses caught every micro-shift—how Neji easily dodged, how his fingers flicked in, tapping Naruto's tenketsu points with clinical expertise. Naruto staggered, momentarily crippled.
Hinata saw it differently: Neji's soul exuded cold inevitability, a sharp river cutting through obstacles. Naruto's light flickered but never dimmed.
Naruto gritted his teeth and, with a cry, created five Shadow Clones. Four charged Neji; one hung back. Takama observed the formation instantly: "Feint," he murmured. Neji dismantled the four attackers with effortless strikes, then turned his Byakugan's full focus onto Naruto now again alone, not for long because he once again summoned a large number of clones before him.
Neji shot forward like an arrow, disrupting dozens of Naruto clones with elegant avoidance and precise strikes. He struck the lone figure at the back—only for it to explode into smoke.
Takama raised an eyebrow. "A layered feint."
Hinata saw the fake Naruto's empty shell dissipate while the real Naruto, bright and burning, moved behind Neji unnoticed. A flash of emotion—a surge of defiant joy—preceded Naruto's strike. Naruto's soul shone like a golden sun, unwavering and honest. No matter the chaos, no matter the number of copies he summoned, Hinata could always see the true Naruto, a beacon in a sea of echoes.
Naruto swung at Neji's face, but Takama, with sharp instinct, predicted the counter. Neji activated his Kaiten—the Eight Trigrams Rotation—and unleashed a spinning dome of chakra, repelling Naruto and one of his clones violently.
Still, Naruto refused to quit. He summoned six more clones, encircling Neji. Takama noted the pattern forming—Naruto's spirit was learning, adapting. "Not brute force," he thought, "but perseverance as weapon."
Neji unleashed another Kaiten, the chakra sphere scattering all the clones, and immediately countered with his Sixty-Four Palms technique. Takama watched, grim-faced, as Neji's strikes sealed Naruto's chakra points systematically. Every blow was perfectly placed, executed with brutal beauty.
Naruto collapsed, breathless. The crowd murmured. Takama heard the scorn among the Hyūga spectators.
Still, Naruto fought to his knees.
Neji, breathing heavily, spoke—his voice laced with bitterness. Takama, even from the stands, caught every word:
"A failure like you can never change your destiny. We are born to serve, to be caged. My father died because of the main family's choice. You can never change who you are."
Hinata flinched. Neji's soul, once a cold river, now bled anguish and resentment into the air.
Naruto's response was a growl of defiance. Even as he staggered to his feet, even as his chakra network failed him, something deeper ignited within.
A massive pulse of chakra burst from Naruto.
Hinata gasped. A monstrous, molten red aura surged around him—the Kyūbi's chakra. But through the roaring inferno, she still saw Naruto's true soul, unwavering beneath the beast's fury.
Her heart steadied. The beast's chakra was terrifying, but Naruto's spirit remained pure.
Takama, shielding his eyes, felt the raw force ripple through the air. "Tailed Beast chakra," he realized. "Crude but alive."
With newfound power, Naruto's sealed chakra points burst open. His movements blurred—now matching Neji's speed easily. Aura of orange fire surrounded him, crackling with energy.
They clashed again. Naruto moved with instinctual clarity, Kunai flashing. Neji countered with another Kaiten. Both were flung backward.
As the dust settled, Takama noted with interest: Naruto lay sprawled, seemingly unconscious. Neji, breathing hard, straightened, believing the match won.
But from below the earth, Naruto erupted.
With a fierce uppercut, he struck Neji's chin squarely, lifting him clean off his feet.
Takama saw it clearly: Naruto had used a clone as bait, tunneling underground during the chaos.
Neji crashed to the ground, unconscious. Silence reigned.
Hinata, heart swelling, saw Naruto's soul burn brighter than ever—a testament to defiance, hope, and the refusal to surrender.
Above them, the banners of Konoha fluttered.
Not for bloodlines.
Not for destiny.
But for the spirit that refused to break.
<<<< o >>>>
Hinata gasped, her hands rising to her face. Tears streamed from her closed eyes—not of sadness, but of release.
"He did it," she said. "Not for me. For himself."
Takama turned to her. Her soul trembled like wind-blown silk, radiant with something he had not seen in a long time.
"He proved his truth," she continued.
Takama said nothing. But inside, he bowed slightly—not to Naruto, but to what the boy represented.
Some sparks defy the storm.
The crowd roared. But for Hinata, only silence remained. Her own heartbeat, and gratitude, echoed louder than any voice.
Thank you.
<<<< o >>>>
Second Match: Sasuke Uchiha vs. Gaara of the Sand
This match was delayed, because Sasuke was not here yet.
If Sasuke still does not appear by then, he would be disqualified.
<<<< o >>>>
Third Match: Shino Aburame vs Kankuro of the Sand
This match ended with Shino's victory because Kanruro was not in a condition to fight.
<<<< o >>>>
Four Match: Shikamaru Nara vs. Temari of the Sand
Takama Gin stood silently, observing the next match unfold with sharp, disciplined focus. His senses, captured every subtle detail: the shifts in the crowd's mood, the brush of wind against steel, the restless murmur of chakra currents in the arena.
Hinata Gin sat quietly nearby, her vision unbound by sight. To her, the battlefield was a swirling dance of intentions and emotions—shadows and lights interweaving.
Shikamaru Nara entered the arena with a visible lack of enthusiasm, practically shoved forward by Naruto. The crowd's murmur turned sour, disapproving of the apparent disinterest. Takama noted this and narrowed his eyes. "He hides more than he shows," he thought.
Across from him, Temari of the Sand glared, feeling insulted. Her soul flared with irritation—sharp and cutting. Hinata saw it clearly: a whip-crack of wounded pride lashing through her.
Temari wasted no time. She unleashed her giant fan as blunt force, aiming to slam Shikamaru flat. To the normal eye, it was a simple tactic; to Takama, it was a test—forcing Shikamaru into a reaction.
Shikamaru moved lazily—but precisely. He hurled two kunai into the wall, using them as footholds to leap and avoid the gust, standing lightly atop them. Takama's mouth twitched. "Sluggish, but efficient. Every move wastes no more energy than needed."
Temari retaliated with another sweeping attack. This time, Shikamaru allowed himself to be driven back, slipping behind a broad tree in the arena.
Hinata watched their emotions weave: Temari's soul grew sharp and impatient, while Shikamaru's thinned into something serpentine, coiling unseen through the grass and shadow.
The fight turned into a silent standoff. Temari's strikes lashed out, carving trenches into the sand and air, but never reaching the elusive Shikamaru. Shikamaru's shadow possession technique, though, lacked the range to bind her at such distance.
Takama noted the rhythms of the clash: "She exhausts herself bit by bit. He waits. Patience as blade."
Shikamaru formed a strange hand sign—a focus technique, Takama recognized instantly, a centering gesture used to sharpen strategic thought. A subtle smirk crossed Takama's face. "He's begun setting his trap."
Temari launched another slicing gust. Shikamaru shifted position again, hiding behind another tree, manipulating the battlefield subtly. The minutes dragged. Shadows stretched longer as the sun dipped.
Hinata saw the arena transform: the emotions cooled into focus. Temari grew wary, but Shikamaru's presence became almost invisible—only a thin silver thread of intent winding through the cracks of reality.
Then he moved. Shikamaru hurled a flash bomb, forcing Temari to shield herself. In that instant, his shadow stretched—further than expected.
Temari leapt, narrowly avoiding the creeping shadow. But Takama's sharp eyes caught the glint of a small object—the remains of an improvised kite made with a shirt and a kunai as a counterweight—tethered to the shifting air currents, subtly manipulating the light.
The shadow lured Temari toward the spot where Naruto had once tunneled beneath Neji. The shadow snaked, unseen, into the tunnel left by Naruto's earlier excavation. Hinata, through her soul-sight, saw the trap spring: the true shadow, hidden and patient, wrapped around Temari's form from behind—a quiet, inevitable embrace.
Temari stiffened, caught. She struggled briefly, realizing too late how she had been herded exactly where Shikamaru wanted her.
The two were drawn closer together. The crowd leaned in, expecting a final blow.
Instead, Shikamaru raised his hand—and surrendered.
Hinata saw the sigh of frustration and grudging respect in Temari's soul. The audience exploded into confused mutters and half-shouts.
Takama shook his head in approval. "Victory is not always the goal. Control is."
Above them, the banners of Konoha stirred gently, whispering of minds sharper than steel, and battles fought in the spaces between movements.
Hinata tilted her head. "He gave up?"
Takama's lips curled into the smallest smirk. "No. He won the moment he decided how far he'd go—and not an inch further. That's the strategy of someone who knows himself."
Hinata nodded slowly. "He always looked like he didn't care… but he does."
Takama's gaze lingered on the arena. "He reminds me of an old general I once fought beside. Lazy eyes. Brilliant mind. Even his strange concentration tick is different from my friend's but I could see the similarity."
The coliseum settled. The Sasuke and Gaara match loomed.