The judge had barely signaled the start when the air in the arena practically exploded.
There was no tentative feeling-out phase. Kakashi and Asuma collided in the center so fast that I saw only blurred shadows and a spray of sparks. The clang of metal was deafening—Asuma delivered strikes with his trench knives with terrifying power, putting the weight of his entire body into every thrust. Kakashi parried them with a short sword.
"The speed..." I whispered. It was at a Chunin level.
My eyes, sharpened by Orochimaru's pill, watched as Asuma began to channel Wind Chakra into his blades. The transparent edges extended, transforming his brass knuckles into invisible swords. With one sharp swing, he sliced through the air.
A vacuum slash passed mere centimeters from Kakashi's mask, slamming into the concrete wall behind him and leaving a deep furrow. If Hatake hadn't dodged, he would have been cleaved in half.
Kakashi didn't stay in debt for long. He instantly broke the distance, his fingers weaving a rapid series of hand signs.
"Earth Style: Mud Wall!" he shouted.
Earth erupted from the concrete, blocking Asuma's path, but Sarutobi didn't even slow down. He punched straight through the wall, using his wind chakra like a drill.
Before the dust could settle, Kakashi was already above him. Hatake's sword flashed, aiming for Asuma's shoulder, but Asuma blocked the strike by crossing his knives.
"You've gotten faster, Kakashi," Asuma growled, and I saw the veins bulge in his arms.
In the next second, Sarutobi unleashed a flurry of strikes so dense that Kakashi was forced into a total, desperate defense. It was Asuma's raw, crushing power against Kakashi's frightening intelligence and technique.
Suddenly, Kakashi vanished in a cloud of smoke. A Substitution! Asuma spun around, sensing an attack from behind, but Hatake had already finished a new set of signs.
"Lightning Style!"
The air crackled with static electricity. Blue sparks danced along the blade of Kakashi's sword. He lunged forward, leaving a trail of scorched air behind him. Asuma responded in kind—his wind blades howled as they collided with the lightning.
A storm formed in the center of the arena; wind sliced through stone while lightning struck the ground, kicking up debris. The spectators in the stands leaped to their feet. This was no longer just a Chunin Exam.
I watched them and felt everything inside me tighten. My recent victory over Shirai now felt like children playing in a sandbox.
"Ash Pile Burning..." Asuma whispered, drawing air into his lungs. Now, everything was about to be decided.
Asuma exhaled sharply, and a thick cloud of grey ash erupted from his mouth, instantly enveloping Kakashi. I could feel the heat even from the balcony.
"Fire Style: Burning Ash!" Asuma clicked his teeth, creating a spark.
A deafening explosion followed. A massive fireball swallowed the center of the arena, momentarily blinding everyone present. The ash, turned into incandescent plasma, incinerated everything within the technique's radius.
But when the flames died down, I saw that Asuma had not relaxed. On the contrary, he leaped back sharply, holding his knives out in front of him.
Hands erupted from the ground right at his feet. "Earth Style: Headhunter Jutsu!" Kakashi's cold voice rang out.
Asuma managed to react only thanks to his instincts—he jumped, evading the grab, but he was vulnerable in the air. Kakashi, who had been hiding underground while leaving a clone as a distraction, was already waiting for him above.
Hatake emerged from the shadows, his sword shrouded in a dense aura of lightning.
"Sorry, Asuma," Kakashi said briefly.
The blow landed on Sarutobi's crossed knives. The collision of wind and lightning generated a blinding flash. For a moment, both froze in mid-air—Kakashi pressing down from above, Asuma gritting his teeth until they cracked, holding him back, even though his feet sank deep into the crumbling concrete upon landing.
The crackle of lightning and the howl of the wind merged into a single roar. And then I noticed it: Asuma was smiling.
"Not bad," he exhaled.
In that same second, Asuma abruptly twisted his wrists. His wind chakra suddenly detonated in a directed blast. It wasn't a complex technique, but rather a raw manipulation of the element; at point-blank range, it worked like a battering ram.
Kakashi was thrown back. He flipped in the air and landed on one knee, breathing heavily. The left sleeve of his flak jacket was completely scorched by lightning and ripped apart by the wind.
Sensing victory, Asuma charged forward for the final blow. He raised his trench knife, pouring the last of his wind chakra into it. The air around his hand swirled into a cutting vortex.
"It's over!" Sarutobi roared.
Kakashi didn't dodge. Instead, he lunged forward, closing the distance to a minimum. It looked like suicide. A split second before the collision, Hatake dropped his sword. His palms slid lightning-fast along Asuma's forearms, redirecting the vector of the attack.
Instead of piercing Kakashi's chest, Asuma's fist passed over Hatake's shoulder. Kakashi used his opponent's momentum. A sharp crouch, a grab at the belt, and a technical shoulder throw.
While Asuma was in the air, Kakashi managed to whip out a thin wire with weights. In one fluid motion, he entangled Sarutobi's legs and right arm, tightening the knot.
A dull thud followed as Asuma hit the ground. He tried to spring up, but the wire bit into his muscles, locking his limbs in an unnatural position. Kakashi was already on top of him, pinning a knee to his opponent's chest and holding a standard kunai to his unprotected throat.
"Move and you'll get cut," Kakashi said, breathing hard. A thin trickle of blood ran from beneath his mask.
Asuma froze. He understood: Hatake had caught him using his own strength. At the slightest jerk, the sharp threads would have sliced his skin to the bone.
"The winner is Kakashi Hatake!" the judge announced.
Kakashi rose slowly, stowing his kunai. He extended a hand to Asuma, helping him free himself from the wire. Sarutobi, spitting out blood, shook his hand firmly. In the gesture, there was only recognition of skill.
"That was unusual," I thought, looking at them.
The scoreboard lit up again, and the symbols began to spin rapidly. When the screen froze, a bewildered whisper ran through the spectators.
The chief proctor's voice was amplified by chakra: "Attention! Since several participants withdrew for health reasons, the tournament bracket has been revised. To form an even number of pairs, a rematch will be held for one of the participants who moved forward."
Aoba Yamashiro vs. Kotetsu Hagane.
Aoba Yamashiro was already descending to the arena. He adjusted his dark glasses with a calm, almost casual gesture.
"He's about eleven years old," I thought, slowly descending the stairs...