The factory floor screamed.
Steam vented from the overhead pipes in violent, rhythmic bursts—HISS-CHUG, HISS-CHUG—creating a wall of white noise that made verbal communication nearly impossible. The air tasted of ozone and burnt copper, a metallic tang that coated the back of the throat. The vibration from the floor traveled up through their boots, a relentless, numbing buzz that made their teeth ache.
Anko was a blur of tan and mesh, sprinting for the gap in the security gate where Asuma had disappeared moments before.
"You aren't going anywhere!" Hanzaki roared.
The Fūma leader moved with terrifying speed for a man of his size. He stepped into Anko's path, his boots denting the metal grating of the floor. He raised his sword—a massive, crude slab of iron that looked less like a weapon and more like a piece of industrial girding sharpened on one side.
The metal was pitted and stained, smelling faintly of old rust and dried oil, a tool meant for crushing as much as cutting.
He swung.
The blade cut through the steam, displacing the air with a low, mournful whoosh. It was aimed directly at Anko's spine. The air pressure dropped ahead of the blade, a vacuum of kinetic force that sucked the moisture right out of the air.
Anko couldn't dodge. Her momentum was fully committed to the forward sprint. If she stopped to block, she'd lose Asuma.
"Anko-sensei, go!"
It wasn't a request. It was a command from the calorie-dense center of the formation.
BOOM.
Chōji Akimichi didn't run; he rolled. He planted his feet, the floor grating groaning under the sudden shift in mass.
"Partial Expansion Jutsu: Right Arm!"
Chōji's arm ballooned, his sleeve shredding instantly. A burst of heat radiated from him—the smell of burning calories, sweet and acrid, cutting through the sulfur stench. His hand, now the size of a wrecking ball, caught the flat of Hanzaki's massive sword mid-swing.
CLANG.
The impact was deafening. Sparks showered down like molten rain, fizzing as they hit the oil-slicked floor. The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the surrounding steam, momentarily clearing a perfect circle of visibility in the fog.
Hanzaki's eyes widened behind his mask. He pushed, his muscles bulging, but Chōji didn't budge an inch. The Akimichi stood like a mountain, his face red, his teeth gritted.
His skin turned flushed and hot, the sudden metabolic spike turning him into a living furnace.
"You... little... fat..." Hanzaki strained.
"I'm not fat," Chōji growled, his chakra flaring blue around his expanded knuckles. "I'm the tank."
Hanzaki prepared to pivot, to use his leverage to throw Chōji aside. He shifted his weight to his back foot.
He couldn't move it.
He looked down.
The factory lighting was a nightmare of purple neon and orange furnace glow, casting erratic, dancing shadows everywhere. But one shadow wasn't dancing.
A thick, black tendril of darkness had stretched out from beneath a pile of scrap metal, slithering through the grate like spilled ink. The darkness was unnaturally matte, drinking in the neon light and reflecting nothing back. It had wrapped itself around Hanzaki's boot, climbing up his shin, locking his muscles into a rigid paralysis.
Shikamaru Nara stood twenty feet away, his hands formed in the Rat seal. He was sweating, his brow furrowed in concentration. The factory's "white noise" made it hard to focus, but the shadow was an extension of his will.
"Shadow Possession Jutsu... Complete," Shikamaru whispered.
"What is this?" Hanzaki snarled, straining against his own body. His muscles twitched, fighting the puppet strings, but the shadow held firm, tense as a piano wire. A vein pulsed visibly in Shikamaru's temple, beating out a frantic rhythm against his sweat-slicked skin.
"Don't look at him," a female voice cut through the steam. "Look at me."
Hanzaki's eyes darted to the left.
Ino Yamanaka stood atop a crate of raw ore. Her blonde ponytail whipped in the thermal draft of the furnaces. Sparks danced around her boots, but she stood statuesque, a figure of calm amidst the chaotic shower of fire. Her hands were raised, forming a triangular window with her fingers—the aim of the Mind Transfer.
She wasn't firing yet. She was just holding the aim.
Her eyes were locked onto Hanzaki's, intense and predatory.
"Move one muscle," Ino threatened, her voice icy calm. "And I will take your body, walk you over to that blast furnace, and throw you inside."
Her blue eyes seemed to glow in the gloom, reflecting the orange furnace fire with a terrifying, cold clarity.
Hanzaki froze.
He looked at the giant holding his sword.
He felt the genius binding his legs.
He stared at the girl ready to hijack his soul.
It wasn't three Genin scrambling for survival. It was a geometric perfect triangle. A deadlock.
Anko paused at the breach in the wall. She looked back, seeing the formation lock into place. A feral grin split her face.
"Good kids," she muttered.
She turned and vanished into the darkness after Asuma.
"He's strong," Shikamaru grunted, feeling the strain in his chakra network. Hanzaki's physical strength was fighting the shadow, making Shikamaru's own muscles tremble in sympathy. The air tasted of ozone and exertion, the heavy, humid scent of three chakras flaring in unison.
"Chōji, don't let up!"
"I've got him!" Chōji yelled, using his expanded hand to twist the sword, forcing Hanzaki's torso to bend at an awkward angle.
"Ino, stay ready!" Shikamaru ordered. "If the shadow slips, you fire."
"I'm locked on," Ino confirmed, not blinking. "He's not going anywhere."
Hanzaki roared, a sound of pure frustration. He was the leader of the Fūma, a warrior of the Land of Sound, yet he was pinned like a butterfly on a board by three children from the Leaf.
"We aren't just a team," Shikamaru said, his voice finding that lazy, confident rhythm despite the strain.
He tightened his grip on the shadow, forcing Hanzaki to kneel on the cold steel floor.
"We're a legacy. Ino-Shika-Chō."
Hanzaki's knee hit the ground with a heavy thud. The sword clattered from his grip as Chōji twisted it free.
The massive slab of iron hit the grating with a heavy, bell-like toll that resonated deep in the chest, marking the end of the struggle.
The factory roared around them, gears grinding and steam hissing, but in that small circle of the floor, the Leaf controlled the board.