Chapter 20: The Sound of Shaving Steel
After the swift, shocking defeat of Hyuuga Kagami, a modest silver treasure chest materialized in the center of the ring, visible only to Ragnar. He claimed it with a thought as he walked to the sidelines, leaving the murmuring crowd behind.
In a quiet corner of the arena grounds, he closed his eyes, regulating his breathing, tuning his body. The roaring tide of the fight—the Byakugan's gaze, the crack of bone on Armament Haki, the crumpling of his opponent—faded into background noise. Beside him, Kushina chattered excitedly, her face flushed with vicarious triumph, her small entourage of "juniors" echoing her cheers with zealous, if unoriginal, chants. Ragnar heard none of it.
His focus was inward, on the new silver chest. He opened it within his mind's space.
A single card lay within. Information flowed: Shave. One of the Navy's Six Powers. A high-speed movement technique achieved by kicking the ground dozens of times in an instant. Mastery allows for near-teleportation. Prerequisite: Exceptional Physical Prowess.
The principles of Shave etched themselves into his neural pathways—the precise muscle groups, the explosive coordination, the way it converted raw leg strength into blinding bursts of speed.
Shave. It was intriguing. It shared conceptual space with the Body Flicker Technique, but where the Flicker relied on chakra manipulation and hand seals for short-range displacement, Shave was pure, unadulterated physics. It was the culmination of a body pushed beyond human limits. A high-level user of the Body Flicker, like Shisui, might achieve similar effects through chakra mastery, but the foundation was different. Shave's foundation was the body itself.
He couldn't help the flicker of anticipation. How would this foreign movement art measure up in a world of chakra-enhanced speed?
Learn Shave.
The card dissolved into motes of light that merged with his being. The technique became as instinctual as breathing.
He called up his panel:
Host: Ragnar
Abilities:
Conqueror's Haki - Lv. 2
Observation Haki - Lv. 2
Armament Haki - Lv. 3
Tornado (Skill) - Lv. 2
Shave (Skill) - Lv. 1 (Upgrade: 100 EXP)
Devil Fruit: Tori Tori no Mi, Model: Phoenix - Lv. 2 (Upgrade: 1000 EXP)
Experience: 420/10000
Defeating Hyuuga Kagami had netted him nearly 300 EXP, bringing his total to 420. The leap to Level 4 Armament had reset his upgrade cost to a daunting ten thousand, a mountain to climb.
Upgrade Shave.
One hundred EXP vanished. Shave ascended to Lv. 2.
The difference was immediate in his understanding. Level 1 Shave was a burst. Level 2 was a controlled eruption. The effective range expanded to roughly twenty meters in any direction, with a sharper, more explosive initiation. The catch, as with all things in this world, was fuel. Executing Shave here would draw on his chakra, just like the Body Flicker. It was another tool, but one that placed its heaviest tax on his physique—a tax his Haki-enhanced body was uniquely suited to pay.
He opened his eyes. On the main stage, the second semi-final had concluded. Namikaze Minato stood victorious, having outlasted Yuhi Oharu's genjutsu in a battle of wits and resilience. Minato was already consuming a ration bar, his efficient movements restoring his chakra with practiced ease.
After a short interval, Minato approached the proctor. "Examiner, I'm ready."
"You don't require further recovery time?" the chunin asked, eyeing the blond boy.
"The last match was primarily mental. My chakra reserves are adequate," Minato replied, offering that disarming, sunbeam smile.
"Very well." The proctor turned, his voice amplifying to carry across the hushed arena. "The final match of the tournament is now set! Contestants: Ragnar versus Namikaze Minato! To the arena, please!"
A roar erupted from the assembled students and faculty. This was the clash they had unknowingly been waiting for: the enigmatic, brutal force against the village's beloved, brilliant prodigy.
Ragnar walked back into the ring, the dust of his previous victory still settling in the air. He faced Minato across the open space.
"I really didn't see the kid making it this far. But this ends here. Minato's got this," Jiraiya declared from the observation deck, his confidence in his (unofficial) pupil unwavering. Minato was, in his eyes, already chunin-level in all but title.
"Tch. Overconfidence is a slow and insidious killer," Tsunade retorted, her arms folded, her gaze locked on Ragnar with a mix of professional appraisal and personal curiosity.
"Tsunade, you seem… peculiarly invested in this boy. His 'strange power' does bear a passing resemblance to your own," Orochimaru noted, his voice a sly whisper.
"Hey! You didn't secretly teach that brat, did you, Tsunade? No wonder he's such a monster! That's not fair!" Jiraiya whirled, pointing an accusatory finger.
"Fool!"
"Idiot!"
In one fluid, terrifying motion, Tsunade's hand shot out, grabbed Jiraiya's extended finger and the attached arm, and twisted.
CRUNCH-POP.
A very distinct, very painful sound echoed on the platform. Jiraiya's face went from indignation to wide-eyed, tearful agony in a nanosecond. His arm hung at a new, creative angle.
"I don't have time to teach annoying brats. And you, Orochimaru, stop stirring the pot." Tsunade released Jiraiya, who stumbled back, cradling his dislocated limb with pitiful whimpers.
The pre-war Sannin—their bonds still strong, their personalities not yet fully warped by the coming horrors—existed in this volatile, violent camaraderie. Orochimaru, for all his creeping strangeness, was still a loyal comrade. He wisely took a step further away from the fuming Tsunade.
Sarutobi Hiruzen watched the byplay, a fond, weary smile touching his lips behind his pipe. They are Konoha's future. I must believe their bond will hold.
In the arena, Namikaze Minato offered Ragnar a respectful, genuine smile. "Ragnar. It's an honor to face you. I've always known you were… extraordinary."
"The honor is mine, Minato," Ragnar replied, the words genuine. In all of Konoha, Minato was perhaps the only person whose innate decency felt untainted by clan politics or hidden agendas. The boy who would one day become the Fourth Hokage and die for his village deserved that respect. Ragnar could admire the spirit, even if he would never choose such a sacrificial path.
"Are both contestants ready?" the proctor called.
They nodded in unison.
"Ragnar! You can do it!" Kushina's voice, fiercely partisan, rang out again, causing a slight, awkward flush on Minato's cheeks and a flicker of bemusement in Ragnar's eyes.
"The final match… begins!"
The proctor's hand swept down.
Silence fell, thicker than before.
Ragnar made the first move. Out of respect for the future Flash, he would not hold back. He would show the full measure of the power he had gathered in the shadows.
His body seemed to blur at the edges.
Shave.
Not the full, twenty-meter burst, but a controlled, six-meter dash that bypassed conventional acceleration entirely. One moment he was standing still. The next, he was within striking distance of Minato, his right fist already a dark, hardened comet aimed at the blond boy's center mass. The air cracked in the wake of his movement.
The final battle for supremacy of the Academy had begun not with a probing strike, but with a declaration of overwhelming, immediate force.
(End of Chapter)
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