The medical bay smelled like antiseptic and old blood. Harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everything in sickly white. Three other fighters occupied beds in various states of broken—one groaning softly, another staring at the ceiling with the blank expression of someone reconsidering life choices.
Kairon sat on an examination table, stripped to the waist, his ANBU suit folded beside him. The kitsune mask still on his face.
A tired-looking woman in surgical scrubs approached, clipboard in hand. Mid-forties, competent movements, the kind of person who'd seen too many broken bodies to be squeamish. She glanced at his torso, eyes widening slightly.
"You fought Ironhide."
"Yes."
She gestured to his ribs. "Let me see the damage."
Kairon leaned back. Her fingers probed gently, professional. The skin was already less swollen than it should be, bruising fading from purple-black to yellow-green faster than normal.
"Three cracked ribs based on impact reports. But this..." She frowned, examining the discoloration more closely. "This doesn't match expected progression. You should still be showing acute inflammation. Instead, you're already into mid-stage healing."
"Fast healer."
"Clearly." She reached for a syringe on the metal tray beside her. "I'll need a blood sample for the medical file. Tournament policy—"
[Sage: Recommend declining. This is DC. DNA samples have a way of ending up in the wrong hands. Cloning. Power analysis. Tracking. The list goes on.]
"No."
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"No samples." Kairon's tone was polite but absolute. "I don't give blood."
"It's standard procedure. Insurance purposes, medical baseline in case—"
"I understand. And I'm still declining." His golden eyes met hers. The mask hid his expression, but not the weight of his stare. "My healing is exceptional. The ribs will be fine by tomorrow. Log it as patient refusal if you need documentation."
The doctor's frustration showed clearly. "The tournament requires—"
"The tournament requires I show up and fight." Kairon pulled his shirt back on, movements unhurried. "I've done that. If they want to disqualify me over a blood draw, they're welcome to try. But I suspect they'd rather keep the fighter who just beat Ironhide. Good for business."
He wasn't threatening. Just stating facts. The leverage was obvious.
The doctor stared at him for a long moment, then sighed and made a sharp note on her clipboard. "Fine. Logged as patient refusal. But if your 'exceptional healing' fails and you collapse mid-fight, that's on you."
"Noted. Anything else?"
"Rest for at least twelve hours. Even with accelerated healing, your body needs time to stabilize." She handed him a small card. "Recovery room assignments are on the second floor. You're in 217. Tournament resumes in two days—fighters get a rest day between match nights."
Kairon took the card. "Thank you."
She left, muttering about difficult fighters and liability waivers.
[Sage: Smooth. You're learning to leverage your position without making enemies.]
"Just being polite."
Kairon collected his gear and headed for the door.
***
The recovery room was small—cot, sink, mirror, locked door. Private. Quiet. Exactly what he needed.
Only after the door sealed shut did he remove the kitsune mask, setting it carefully beside the cot. Beneath it, a plain cloth mask still covered the lower half of his face.
Cameras, informants, memory-enhanced spectators—too many eyes, too many ways for a face to become a problem.
In the underworld, faces were liabilities.
And he had no intention of giving anyone leverage they didn't need.
Kairon sat on the cot, breathing carefully through the ache in his ribs. Every inhale reminded him of Ironhide's backhand.
[Sage: Status check. You should see where you stand before making decisions.]
"Show me."
A translucent interface materialized:
***
CURRENT STATUS
Rank: Chunin (Low)
Physical Attributes:
Strength: 71 (Depleted: 58)
Speed: 76 (Depleted: 62)
Stamina: 66 (Depleted: 41)
Energy Systems:
Chakra: 180/1740 (Critically Low)
Mana: 120/1590 (Critically Low)
Condition:
Three cracked ribs (healing accelerated)
Muscle fatigue (severe)
Chakra exhaustion (critical)
Mana exhaustion (critical)
Recovery Time: 18-20 hours to combat readiness
***
[Sage: Chunin rank advancement tripled your base reserves. 580 chakra became 1,740. 530 mana became 1,590. That's exponential scaling—the difference between genin and chunin isn't incremental, it's categorical. Once fully recovered, you'll have the stamina for extended engagements.]
Kairon studied the numbers. His reserves had tripled with Chunin advancement, but he had burned most of it.
[Sage: Your Amazonian heritage provides baseline accelerated healing. Chakra and mana circulation enhance it further. Current projection: ribs fully healed in 18-20 hours. The rest period gives you buffer time. You'll be at full capacity before Round 2.]
"Good. I'll need it."
[Sage: Tournament resumes in 48 hours. You need 18-20 for full recovery. That leaves you roughly 30 hours to train, integrate upgrades, and prepare strategically. Use them wisely.]
"Planning on it." Kairon pulled up the system interface. "First things first."
[SYSTEM SHOP - CHUNIN ACCESS GRANTED]
The display materialized, categories expanding like a tree of possibilities.
***
SYSTEM SHOP
Current Rank Access: Chunin (Low)
Available Points: 3,000 SP
Categories:
- Techniques
- Abilities
- Equipment
- Consumables
- Bloodline Development
***
His eyes went straight to Bloodline Development.
[Sage: Predictable. You're looking at Sharingan Evolution, aren't you?]
"Two tomoe." Kairon focused on the entry.
***
SHARINGAN: SECOND TOMOE
Cost: 2,000 SP
Requirements:
- First Tomoe active
- Chunin Rank minimum
- Combat experience with Sharingan
Enhancements:
- Improved Prediction: Track faster movements with greater accuracy
- Technique Copying: Replicate observed techniques after single viewing (requires user capability to execute)
- Genjutsu Resistance: Enhanced mental defenses against mind-based attacks
- Enhanced Chakra Visualization: See energy flow patterns in greater detail
Warning: Evolution process is permanent and irreversible. May cause temporary vision disruption.
***
Two thousand points. Two-thirds of his total.
[Sage: That's a significant investment. You'll only have 1,000 SP left for everything else.]
"All incremental," Kairon said quietly, studying the technique copying feature.
[Sage: And the Sharingan?]
"Exponential." He leaned back against the wall. "I learned something from Ironhide—in a tournament, adaptability matters more than raw power. He was stronger, tougher, more experienced. But I could analyze and adjust. Every fight becomes a learning opportunity. Combined with my past-life knowledge and cognitive enhancement..."
[Sage: You become a sponge for combat skills. Every opponent teaches you their techniques. Every exchange adds to your arsenal.]
"Exactly. And the genjutsu resistance—" He paused, remembering intelligence gathered. "There are magic users in this tournament. Illusion specialists. Without defense against that, all my physical advantages mean nothing."
[Sage: You've already decided, haven't you?]
"Yes."
[Sage: Then stop deliberating and commit. Overthinking is unbecoming.]
Kairon selected the purchase.
[Confirm Purchase: Sharingan Second Tomoe - 2,000 SP?]
He chose yes.
***
The change was immediate.
Warmth flooded his eyes. His vision blurred, colors bleeding together as his pupils dilated involuntarily.
Then red.
Everything washed crimson. The tomoe in each eye spun faster, the single comma duplicating—one became two, black marks rotating in perfect synchronization.
The world sharpened.
Details exploded into focus with overwhelming clarity. Individual threads in the cot's fabric. Microscopic cracks in ceiling tiles spreading like spider webs.
But it was his perception that truly transformed.
He could track individual flows within his own body, see exactly where his chakra pathways carried energy, observe how reserves cycled through his coils with every breath. The cracked ribs showed as slight disruptions in the flow—damage creating turbulence in the current.
The cognitive enhancement from his previous reward synced seamlessly with the improved Sharingan. Processing speed and visual acuity merged into something greater than their sum. He could think as fast as he could see, analysis happening in fractions of seconds.
For the first time, the world didn't feel fast.
It felt slow.
[Sage: Upgrade complete. Sharingan: Second Tomoe active. Visual acuity increased 340% from baseline. Prediction algorithms updated. Technique copying database initialized. Genjutsu resistance protocols active. Integration successful.]
He moved to the mirror. His reflection stared back crimson eyes, two black tomoe in each iris.
He deactivated the Sharingan with a thought. The crimson faded. Gold returned.
But he could feel the difference.
When he activated it again, the transition was instant. The world sharpened, time seemed to slow just slightly, and that feeling of absolute clarity returned.
[Sage: How do you feel?]
"Dangerous," Kairon said softly. Then smiled. "In a good way."
[Sage: Good. Because you have 1,000 SP left and more matches ahead. Recommendations?]
Kairon returned to the shop, scrolling efficiently through the Consumables section.
CHAKRA RECOVERY PILL (BASIC)
Cost: 100 SP | Restores 200 chakra over 5 minutes | Quantity: 5 pills
MANA RECOVERY ELIXIR (BASIC)
Cost: 100 SP | Restores 150 mana over 5 minutes | Quantity: 5 vials
He purchased both without hesitation. With multiple matches ahead and only a day between rounds, sustainability mattered.
[Remaining Balance: 800 SP]
He moved to the Techniques section. His close-quarters combat was solid, but Ironhide had forced him into brutal exchanges where one mistake could have been fatal. He needed options. Range. Flexibility.
Then he found it.
WIND RELEASE: WIND CUTTER
Cost: 600 SP | Rank: Chunin | Type: Offensive Ninjutsu
Effect: Projects compressed air blade from hand or weapon. Cuts through steel. Range: 20 meters. Chakra cost: 15 per use.
Perfect. No need to close distance against every opponent.
He purchased it.
Knowledge flooded his mind—hand seals, chakra flow patterns, the precise compression needed to turn air into a cutting edge. The technique felt right, like he'd known it all along and was simply remembering.
[Remaining Balance: 200 SP]
[Sage: Practical. Though with your Sharingan, you could copy techniques for free.]
"I need it now, not after watching someone use it." Kairon flexed his fingers, feeling the technique settle. "In this tournament, waiting for the perfect opportunity means being unprepared when you need something immediately."
[Sage: Smart choice. The remaining 200 points?]
He scrolled for only a moment before selecting a practical option.
Low-grade chakra-conductive metal ore.Not the high-quality material that would cost thousands of points, but enough to enhance his sword's edge through alchemical integration.
His sword had performed well—the neurotoxin reservoir especially—but it could be better. The tournament only allowed one registered weapon, and a replacement blade or even an identical replacement—was out of his current budget.
[Remaining Balance: 0 SP]
[Sage: Smart. The ore's cheap because it requires skill to integrate properly. Which you have, thanks to Iruma's knowledge. Once you fuse it into the blade, you'll be able to channel techniques like Wind Cutter directly through the sword instead of projecting them separately. Efficiency improvement.]
"Exactly what I was thinking."
[Sage: Of course you were. I'm literally inside your head.]
Kairon closed the shop and pulled a chakra recovery pill from his newly purchased supply.
Warmth spread through his system over five minutes, chakra reserves replenishing steadily.
[Chakra: 380/1740]
He followed it with a mana elixir. The taste was sharp, medicinal, but the effect was immediate.
[Mana: 270 /1590]
Better. Not combat-ready, but no longer running on fumes.
Kairon lay back on the cot, staring at the ceiling. His body ached , deep muscle fatigue, his ribs throbbed with each breath, but the pain was already less sharp than an hour ago.
He'd won his first match. Proven he could compete at this level.
But.
"Sage," he said quietly "Can I ask you something?"
[Sage: You're going to regardless of my answer, so yes.]
"Why do I get so lost in the fight?" The question came reluctantly. " I wanted it. The clash, the violence, pushing to the edge. Testing myself against someone stronger. And when I won, the first thing I felt was disappointment that it was over."
Silence stretched for several heartbeats.
Then: [Sage: Because three separate parts of your soul are all screaming the same thing.]
Kairon waited.
[Sage: Your Amazonian blood is combat instinct made flesh. Warriors who fought gods and monsters, who viewed battle as the highest expression of existence, who earned their place on that island through centuries of warfare. That's genetic—coded into every cell. Your mother Aella carried it. You inherited it. Combat feels right because for your bloodline, it is.]
[Then there's Madara's memories. Centuries of battle-honed reflexes, the high of pushing limits, the clarity that only comes from life-or-death stakes. He lived for combat. Craved it. That hunger is woven into every technique, every tactical instinct you've inherited. When you fight, you're tapping into someone who viewed peace as boring and war as art.]
[And finally, there's you. The core you, who chose to enter an underground death tournament rather than train safely in your penthouse. Who's driven to prove you're more than what you were born as. Who left Central City because comfortable growth wasn't enough. All three aspects amplify each other. In combat, they synchronize perfectly. It feels euphoric because it IS euphoric—you're operating at peak performance with the drive to transcend limits.]
Kairon absorbed that, turning it over in his mind. The three-part answer made terrible sense.
"So I'm addicted to fighting," he said finally.
[Sage: Addicted implies lack of control. You're not there yet. You made tactical decisions during the fight. But you could lose it if you're not careful. The solution isn't suppression—that leads to explosion. It's direction. Fight with purpose, not just for the thrill. Know when to walk away. Master the hunger instead of letting it master you.]
"And if I can't?"
[Sage: Then you become someone who fights because it's all they know how to do. Someone who needs the battle to feel alive. Who escalates conflicts because peace feels wrong. Who destroys everything around them chasing that high.] Her voice carried unusual weight. [Don't let that happen.]
The words settled heavy in the quiet room.
Kairon thought about it. That hunger was dangerous it could consume him if he wasn't careful.
But.
That hunger drove him to train harder than anyone else would. Push further. Accept challenges that made others run.
The question wasn't whether to feel it. The question was whether he controlled it, or it controlled him.
"I'll be careful," he said finally. "The hunger is useful. But I won't let it make my decisions."
[Sage: See that you are. Because the tournament gets harder from here. Round one eliminated the weakest fighters. Round two will be tougher. And if you're chasing the high instead of chasing victory, you'll make mistakes. Fatal ones.]
[The fighters who remain aren't here by accident—they're survivors. And survivors learn to exploit weakness. If they see you taking unnecessary risks, prolonging fights for the thrill, they'll punish it. Brutally.]
"Understood."
[Sage: Good. Now sleep. Your healing factor is working, but it requires energy. Sleep accelerates recovery. Your body needs rest more than your mind needs worry.]
Kairon let his eyes close again. Exhaustion pulled at him—deeper than physical, the bone-deep weariness of someone who'd pushed past every limit and survived.
Outside, the tournament continued. Other fighters bleeding for the crowd.
But in Room 217, Kairon's breathing slowed, deepened, falling into sleep's rhythm.
Tomorrow, he'd integrate the ore into his blade. Practice Wind Cutter. Let his ribs finish healing.
And in two days, when they called his name, he'd step back into that cage.
Stronger. Smarter. More dangerous.
One last thought drifted through consciousness before sleep claimed him completely:
Fifteen fighters left.
He smiled in the darkness.
He'd already decided who was walking out.
Then exhaustion won, pulling him under.
Outside, the arena roared. Inside, a warrior rested.
The storm was gathering strength.
[END CHAPTER 5]