The second phase was a test of starvation, but for Yoichi's team, it was a farce.
While other shinobi scrambled for dwindling scraps, Yoichi and Tsunade carried Space Pouches overflowing with preserved rations and water.
The "attrition" meant to break them became a comfortable stay in a hostile environment.
On the first day, the tower was thick with paranoia.
Teams huddled in shadows, guarding their bread like gold. Yoichi sat in calm meditation, his Qi steady, while his team ate their fill. Their uncontested state drew eyes, but no one dared move against the four who showed no signs of hunger or fatigue.
By the second day, desperation drove a desperate Iwa squad to strike. They lunged from the darkness, eyes wild with hunger.
Jiraiya didn't even stand up.
He cleared the first two with a lazy sweep of his hair, while Orochimaru's snakes silenced the rest in a heartbeat.
The skirmish was over before it truly began.
The third day was a slaughter for the rest.
As teams butchered one another over the final vault at the bottom of the abyss, Yoichi's group watched from the high ledges.
The Kumo team glared from across the void, their faces gaunt, realizing the Leaf had never played the game they were losing.
When the timer expired, the Leaf team descended with effortless grace.
They were the only ones who looked fresh, their gear clean and their energy peaked.
The trial meant to starve the weak had only served to prove that Yoichi's team was operating on an entirely different level.
The proctor stepped onto the central dais, his voice cold. "The second phase is over. There will be no third phase. The tournament is postponed, but for you, the objective is met. Congratulations. You have passed the Chūnin Exams."
The announcement stunned the survivors.
Over sixty percent of the world's participants had been culled within the tower's walls.
The resource war had turned the exam into a slaughterhouse, leaving the halls filled with those who could not handle the hunger.
"You think this was a sabotage?" the proctor asked, his gaze lingering on the blood-stained floor. "No. This is reality. You either adapt to excellence or die in mediocrity. You who stand here have proven your worth."
Yoichi stood calm, his team pristine while others looked like ghosts. With their Space Pouches full, the starvation had been a joke. They had functioned at peak efficiency while their rivals devolved into animals.
The Kumo leader glared, his face gaunt. He had survived, but his pride was shattered. He watched the Leaf team depart, his malice now tempered by a flickering fear. Even with their new rank, the gap between them was a chasm.
"A successful hunt," Orochimaru murmured, glancing at the bloodied walls.
The heavy doors opened, letting in the cool evening breeze. The team walked out as newly minted Chūnin, leaving the stench of the cull behind.
They had dominated a trial that had broken the world's best.
Soon enough, news of the carnage spread like wildfire.
The high casualty rate was seemingly a political disaster for Sunagakure, but the proctors didn't blink. They had effectively filtered the world's shinobi, leaving only those capable of surviving an absolute hellscape.
All of them watched the frantic organizers trying to manage the diplomatic fallout. This ruckus was a precursor to an incoming storm for Suna, as other villages would surely demand answers for their slaughtered genin.
However, Yoichi didn't mind.
This was the Kazekage's problem, not his.
"The wind is changing," Orochimaru noted, his eyes tracking a Suna official rushing past. "They've made many enemies today."
Jiraiya stretched, his new Chunin vest feeling heavy. "Let them deal with it. I just want a bed that doesn't smell like dried blood and sand."
Tsunade nodded in agreement, her gaze already fixed on the horizon. The Leaf had won more than just rank; they had maintained their strength while others were decimated.
Yoichi adjusted his pack, his mind already moving past the exams. He had played the game, secured his position, and remained untouched.
The chaos following the tournament was just background noise to a shinobi of his focus.
In the depths of the Kazekage's office, the air was thick with incense. Shamon stood by the window, his gaze fixed on the tower. The reports on his desk were a sea of red ink, detailing the massacre of young shinobi from every corner of the map.
"The casualties are too high," a masked advisor whispered. "The other villages call this a slaughter, not an exam."
Shamon did not turn. He watched the Leaf team depart, their forms small against the dunes. He had sacrificed peace for a future where only the elite survived. The diplomatic hurricane was already forming, but his expression remained stone.
"Let them scream," Shamon replied, his voice a gravelly rasp. "The desert does not apologize for the sandstorm. If they were too weak to survive, they were never shinobi."
He turned back to his desk, eyes cold.
Shamon had created a meat grinder to reveal the world's true power.
The Leaf's effortless performance was an insult to his expectations, a glaring proof of their superiority.
"Focus on the reconstruction," Shamon commanded. "The storm will pass. Suna will be the only one left with warriors who know the true face of death."
...
Deep in the shifting dunes, yellow eyes peered from the earth. Black Zetsu watched the silhouette vanish into the horizon. He merged with the cooling sand, his form a flickering shadow.
Damn Murakami. Damn that brat, Zetsu hissed within the silence of his mind. Those earrings... these accursed techniques. He is a stain on the tapestry I have spent centuries weaving.
He decided right then to keep the boy's name out of his mouth. He would treat the brat's existence like smoke in his reports, hiding the truth from Madara.
He knew the old Uchiha's character too well.
If ever Madara discovered Yoichi, things might spiral beyond Black Zetsu's control.
He must be erased, not utilized, Zetsu thought. I need a tragedy that looks like a mere accident of history.
After a long-winded thinking, a memory flickered like a radiant lightbulb in the dark.
He thought of the Land of Grass.
Hidden there was an ancient vessel, a relic from a time before the Sage of Six Paths even walked the earth. Men whispered it granted wishes, but Zetsu knew it only brought ruin.
The Box, Zetsu mused, a cold sneer forming.
It does not care for his strange techniques. It only hungers for the soul.
With his plan set, the shadow sank deep into the earth. He traveled through the darkness of the tectonic plates, leaving the desert behind.
In the subterranean gloom, the Demonic Statue of the Outer Path towered over the shadows. Madara sat upon a stone throne, his frame still powerful but beginning to show the weight of time.
Strands of white had started to bleed into his dark hair, a sign that he was becoming older with each passing year. His purple Rinnegan glowed with a god-like pressure in the dim light.
Black Zetsu rose from the stone floor, his form bowing low.
"Master, I have returned from the desert," Zetsu reported, his voice an oily rasp. "Suna was a bloodbath. The nations are in an uproar over the survival rate."
Madara's gaze remained fixed on the void, his voice a low, heavy rumble. "The squabbles of insects. Did any of the Leaf's seeds show the spark of a true shinobi, or are they still rotting in Hashirama's peace?"
"None of note," Zetsu lied, his mind shielding the memory of the boy with the earrings. "A few survived, but they are unremarkable. They are mere smoke in the grand design, unworthy of your gaze."
Madara let out a cold, sharp breath.
"Disappointing. I need a tool with fire to carry out my will as I prepare for the final stage."
"There is something else, Master," Zetsu continued, shifting the focus with serpent-like grace. "In my travels, I stumbled upon a whisper in the Land of Grass. An ancient vessel has surfaced. It is a relic that predates even the Sage of Six Paths. I do not know its full depth, but its power is immense."
The ripples in Madara's eyes tightened with interest. "An ancient vessel? If it predates the Sage, it is a primitive force that belongs to the one who will bring order. It could serve as a perfect catalyst for my plan."
"Indeed, Master," Zetsu murmured, a hidden sneer lost in the dark. "I will investigate further. I will ensure the path is cleared so this strength falls into your hands, while the nuisances of the world are cleared away in the process."
...
The dry heat of the desert gradually gave way to the lush greenery of the Land of Fire. Yoichi walked at the front, his pace steady and his expression unreadable. He did not look back at the border.
"Finally, some shade," Jiraiya muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. He looked at the trees with relief. "I thought I'd never see a leaf again."
Tsunade stayed silent, her eyes scanning the treeline with habitual caution. She glanced at Yoichi's back, noting how he seemed entirely unaffected by the transition. The carnage they left behind was already a distant memory to him.
They reached the massive gates of Konoha as the sun began to set. The guards straightened their posture, recognizing the successful team.
The familiar smell of woodsmoke filled the air, replacing the metallic scent of Suna's blood-soaked arena.
"We're home," Orochimaru whispered, his yellow eyes reflecting the fading light. He looked at the Hokage Rock with a thin, knowing smile.
Once they arrived, the group eventually went to the Hokage's building via Hiruzen's command.
The Hokage's office smelled of tobacco and old paper. Hiruzen sat behind his desk, watching the four young shinobi through a veil of smoke.
The team stood in a disciplined line, their gear still dusted with the red sand of the desert.
Hiruzen placed four green flak jackets on the wooden desk. "The reports from Suna are troubling, but your performance was undeniable," he stated, his voice a calm rasp. "You navigated a trial of blood and emerged as the pride of the Leaf."
"Took long enough for someone to notice," Jiraiya joked, though he reached for his vest with a wide, toothy grin.
Tsunade accepted hers with a solemn nod. "It was a mess, Sensei. But we got it done."
Orochimaru's fingers brushed the fabric, his yellow eyes gleaming. "A mere title," he whispered, "but a necessary step for what comes next."
Hiruzen turned his gaze toward the center of the group. He picked up the last jacket and held it out.
"Chuunin is just a rank, Yoichi. Your actions in the desert showed a level of command that far exceeds it. You have the village's thanks."
Yoichi took the vest with a firm grip. "I only did what was required for the mission, Lord Hokage," he replied, his voice cold and steady. He offered a sharp bow, his eyes showing no sign of pride.
"Continue to sharpen your blades," Hiruzen said, dismissing them with a tired smile. "The village will need your strength soon enough."
Yoichi turned and led the team out. He did not celebrate. The promotion was nothing more than a tool to grant him more freedom, and he was already planning how to use it.
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Thanks to doomslayer24, Daemonic_Dragon, Snowwwww, and our newest benefactor Inbane for the Power Stones! Glad that you are still reading!