The coliseum buzzed with restless energy. Hinata Gin, seated quietly beside Takama, felt the unease ripple through the souls gathered. Takama registered every shift: the growing anticipation, the sharpening focus, the whisper of weapons being checked one last time.
Across the arena, Gaara of the Sand stood still, his posture serene but unnervingly rigid. Hinata tilted her head slightly. To her, Gaara's soul appeared as a cracked vessel—fractures hidden beneath the surface, straining to hold back a flood.
Sasuke Uchiha arrived late, his body crackling faintly with new speed and sharpness. Takama's eyes narrowed slightly. "A blade newly forged," he thought. "But blades sharpened too quickly often shatter."
The proctor called the match to begin.
Sasuke moved first, a blur of motion. Takama tracked every step: minimal wasted movement, maximum pressure applied. Gaara's sand reacted automatically, forming barriers against the flurry of attacks. Sparks flew where kunai met sand.
Hinata observed the flow of emotions: Sasuke's soul surged forward like a spear—sharp, purposeful. Gaara's soul remained static at first, absorbing, waiting. But deep inside, the fractures trembled.
Sasuke launched his Chidori, lightning screaming through the coliseum. He drove forward, piercing Gaara's sand shield and slicing into his shoulder.
The world seemed to still.
Takama heard the wet crack of impact, the sharp intake of breath from the audience, the tightening of ninja grips on their weapons.
Hinata gasped. Gaara's soul—already fractured—split open further. Waves of chaotic emotions bled into the air: rage, fear, isolation.
Gaara staggered back, clutching his bleeding shoulder. His sand writhed unnaturally, forming grotesque shapes around him. His breathing grew ragged.
Hinata watched, heart pounding. The light inside Gaara shifted—something else stirred within, vast and monstrous.
Then Gaara screamed.
Sand erupted outward in a violent wave. A massive claw formed, an extension of his rage and terror. His body began to twist and morph, the first signs of Shukaku's possession taking root.
Takama's hand fell lightly to the hilt of his blade. "This is no longer a battle between shinobi," he muttered. "This is a collapse."
<<<< o >>>>
High above, hidden behind the facade of the Kazekage, Orochimaru frowned. This was not the controlled transformation he had planned. Gaara was losing control far too early.
With a subtle signal, Orochimaru gave the command.
The air shifted.
Takama, ever attuned, felt it instantly: a sudden, unnatural stillness, like the moment before a lightning strike.
The Sleep Genjutsu blossomed over the stadium like an invisible mist. Civilians and weaker shinobi began collapsing where they sat. Only the strongest resisted.
Hinata gripped the edge of her seat. To her, the emotional landscape of the coliseum changed in an instant—from anticipation to confusion to terror.
Kuro growled low, sensing the hostile shift.
Across the arena, disguised shinobi from Suna and Oto moved swiftly, initiating their attack.
Banners fell. Smoke bombs detonated. The proud coliseum descended into chaos.
<<<< o >>>>
A pulse.
Invisible, but undeniable.
Across the arena, civilians, genin, and even many chūnin slumped where they stood, overcome by a genjutsu of massive scale. The illusion swept through the stands like a wave, muffling voices, stealing movement. The world fell quiet.
But not for all.
Takama Gin, seated in the dignitary section among lords and high-ranking guests, felt the genjutsu approach and passed through him without effect. His soul, fortified by the breath of another, stood untouchable.
Beside him, Hinata Gin remained upright, her eyes closed as always. Now her soul was too strong to be affected by such weak attempts. Her spiritual awareness flared in the silence, and she reached out instinctively, sensing the threads of consciousness around her.
"It's a wide-scale illusion," she whispered. "Everyone around us..."
Takama nodded. "Sleeping… An attack. Coordinated."
The guards stationed at the terrace reacted swiftly. Samurai and elite shinobi surrounded the foreign dignitaries, forming an unbreakable ring.
"Takama-sama, please, remain here! We will keep you safe."
But Takama's eyes were already on Hinata. She turned her head slightly toward him.
"Please," she said softly. "Find Kurenai. And the others. Make sure they're safe."
Her voice showed a helplessness in only being able to do more than ask for help from someone she trusts.
Takama met her expression—serene, determined.
He stood.
To the stunned guards, he said only: "Protect my daughter. That is all I ask."
And then he leapt from the balcony.
<<<< o >>>>
Chaos had already erupted in the lower stands. Shinobi of the Hidden Sound and Hidden Sand villages discarded their disguises, launching attacks against sleeping civilians and vulnerable genin.
Takama descended like a blade of judgment.
He couldn't help but smile, because he knew that thanks to Michel he had finally passed the threshold, to reach a combat level similar to what a Low Jōnin ninja should have, now his chakra responded to his intentions and that opened up abilities that he lost when his body reached its current state.
He moved with speed that defied his age and appearance, his blade flashing once, twice—each cut executed from meters away, the pressure alone cleaving through enemy after enemy. Those he struck collapsed instantly, their limbs lifeless, like puppets with strings severed.
He did not fight to dominate.
He fought to protect.
From a rooftop, he spotted Kurenai—conscious, struggling against three assailants. With a single bound, Takama landed beside her, parrying a blade aimed at her back with his own. The enemy fell before he even registered the blow.
Kurenai turned, astonished. "Takama-sama?!"
"Where are your students?"
"Gone. After Gaara. They left after the genjutsu hit."
Takama nodded, his silver-threaded soul pulsing. "Then we hold the line."
<<<< o >>>>
All across the battlefield of Konoha, the Hidden Leaf responded. Jōnin and ANBU clashed with enemy forces. Explosions rocked rooftops. Smoke filled the streets.
But the dignitary section remained untouched, guarded by warriors who had witnessed Takama Gin's will.
And high above it all, in the eye of the storm, Hinata Gin sat quietly with her hands in her lap, listening.
Her friends were fighting.
Naruto was fighting.
She could not see them.
But she could feel them.
And for the first time since her fall... she was not afraid.