Akira was officially in the Top Eight.
Two more rounds stood between him and the championship match. One more hurdle before the final. He allowed himself a single, quiet hope.
Minato. Finals. Not before.
Fate, as usual, listened just long enough to deny him comfort.
His next opponent was announced.
Mikoto Uchiha.
A fellow clan member. Calm. Sharp-eyed. And far more dangerous than the crowd realized.
Akira's expression remained neutral, but internally he adjusted his plans.
Genjutsu would be unreliable. Against another Uchiha, especially one this composed, illusion alone was a gamble.
The match began.
Mikoto moved first.
Her shurikenjutsu was clean, elegant, and relentless. The projectiles curved and rebounded with practiced precision, forcing Akira on the defensive. He countered efficiently, deflecting, evading, never overcommitting.
Then he exhaled.
Time for the signature move.
Clones burst into existence.
Not one kind. Several.
Shadow clones. Regular clones. Afterimages born from speed. The battlefield fractured into motion and deception as Akira surged forward, kunai flashing, body flickering in short, controlled bursts. Wind chakra laced his movements, shaving milliseconds off every step.
To the untrained eye, it was chaos.
To Mikoto, it was worse.
---
In the Observation Gallery
Jiraiya leaned forward, squinting.
"Is that speed, or are those clones?"
Orochimaru's lips curved slightly.
"Both. Clones layered with genjutsu. His earlier whistling left residual chakra trails in his opponents. He's exploiting that now."
Hiruzen nodded slowly.
"It was his uncle's technique," he said softly. "He's nowhere near mastering it. So he's compensating. Shadow clones, basic clones, and wind chakra augmentation."
For a moment, nostalgia flickered across the Hokage's face.
Danzō scoffed.
"He's distracted. Singing, whistling. Is he a shinobi or a street performer? If he joined Root, I'd strip that nonsense away and make him surpass his uncle."
"Oh, shut up, Danzō," Koharu snapped. "The audience paid for spectacle. Showmanship matters in public events. And for an Uchiha, he's doing just fine. Though… cockier than his uncle, certainly."
She paused, whispering and sighing.
"Oh, Kagami…"
Danzō's eye twitched.
"Careful. You used to say the same about his uncle."
Hiruzen cleared his throat sharply.
"This is a public setting."
Danzō snorted and fell silent.
Jiraiya hummed a tune under his breath.
"Put your lips together and—"
A fist descended. Tsunade acted.
Jiraiya shut up immediately.
---
Back in the Arena
Mikoto was struggling.
Her feet felt rooted, her sense of direction subtly skewed. Every strike met air. Every clone dissolved too late or too early. Her Sharingan tracked movement, but the information contradicted itself. Too many signals. Too much noise.
She tried everything.
Shuriken.
Clones.
A wide-area sweep.
Nothing worked.
Then she committed to a counterattack.
A kick arced toward one Akira.
And another hand appeared at her neck.
There was no pain at first.
Just a sharp, penetrating jolt that flooded her system, disrupting muscle response and chakra flow simultaneously. Her body seized, breath stolen, limbs refusing to answer.
She collapsed.
"Winner," the proctor announced, voice steady, "Akira Uchiha."
The field went quiet.
Not stunned silence.
Respectful silence.
Akira stepped back, dispelling his clones, expression calm, almost apologetic.
A precise distraction.
Point-blank electrical discharge.
Non-lethal. Efficient.
Mikoto had never stood a chance once the trap closed.
Akira advanced.
Semifinals.
And the tournament suddenly felt a lot smaller.
Only four remained now.
Minato Namikaze.
Hiashi Hyūga.
Shibi Aburame.
Akira Uchiha.
The arena felt smaller with so few contenders left, as if the walls themselves were leaning in to listen.
Semifinal One
Hiashi Hyūga vs Minato Namikaze
The two stepped forward. Calm. Focused.
Jōnin Yūhi raised his hand.
"Begin."
What followed caught nearly everyone off guard.
Minato moved first.
And he moved wrong.
Or rather, wrong according to expectation.
His body blurred, space folding in on itself in a way that was… familiar.
Akira's eyes narrowed.
He copied it.
Not perfectly. Not yet. But Minato had seen Akira's Body Flicker once and already adapted it, trimming excess motion, simplifying chakra flow, making it his own.
For the first time that day, Akira felt something stir that wasn't calculation.
Amusement.
And a sliver of unease.
Who's the Uchiha here? Me, or him?
Observation Gallery
Jiraiya's face lit up like a proud grandfather.
"Did you see that? Tsunade? Orochimaru? My disciple watched it once and recreated it. Raw talent. I tell you, Minato will win this."
Orochimaru chuckled softly.
"We'll see."
Nawaki leaned forward, eyes sparkling.
"That move was awesome! Orochimaru-sensei, teach me that!"
Orochimaru smiled thinly and said nothing.
Tsunade smacked Nawaki on the head.
"Learn how to use the Strange Fist properly first. And your Body Flicker is sloppy. Your junior's already better than you."
Nawaki grumbled, wisely choosing silence.
Back in the Arena
Hiashi reacted instantly, activating Rotation.
Chakra flared outward in a perfect sphere, shredding clones and forcing space around him. The crowd murmured approval. That was Main Branch mastery.
Hiashi advanced.
Every strike shattered another Minato.
Pop.
Pop.
Pop.
Then his palm struck a real body.
Minato absorbed the hit.
Not by endurance, but precision.
He diverted chakra to the exact point of impact, reducing damage to a dull thud. In the same breath, he grabbed Hiashi's wrist.
A seal flashed.
A mobility-binding fuinjutsu, slapped on mid-motion.
Hiashi froze.
Utterly.
"Winner," Yūhi announced, "Minato Namikaze."
The arena erupted.
Cheers thundered down from the stands. A commoner defeating a clan heir always did something electric to a crowd. Minato basked in none of it, already stepping back, composed and polite.
Popular support was firmly his.
Semifinal Two
Akira Uchiha vs Shibi Aburame
Before the signal was given, Akira leaned closer and spoke quietly.
"Shibi," he said calmly, "I'm a fire user. Your insects are vulnerable to it. This is an Academy match. I don't want to burn your comrades alive. Think about it."
No threat.
Just information.
Shibi's expression didn't change, but his eyes flicked briefly toward the stands. Clan members. Teammates. Insects crawling invisibly beneath his coat.
The signal was given.
Shibi raised his hand.
"I forfeit," he said evenly. "Low chakra."
A ripple passed through the audience.
Akira straightened, already turning away.
No explosions.
No spectacle.
Just efficiency.
Mind games worked best when they didn't look like games at all.
And just like that, Akira Uchiha advanced to the final.
The stage was set.
Minato Namikaze.
Akira Uchiha.
Talent versus preparation.
Instinct versus calculation.
And the arena waited, breath held
Just before the match could begin, the Hokage rose to his feet.
The murmurs in the arena faded into attentive silence.
"Today," Hiruzen began, his voice calm yet resonant, "we have two Academy students who have defeated every opponent placed before them. Regardless of the outcome, both finalists are already victors."
He turned slightly toward the arena.
"I congratulate them both. They are my grand-disciples. Minato Namikaze, student of Jiraiya. Akira Uchiha, student of Orochimaru."
Applause and whispers rolled through the stands.
"They have upheld the Will of Fire admirably."
Hiruzen paused, eyes distant for a moment.
"To those who possess the Will of Fire, everyone in the village is family. The desire to protect that family forges bonds stronger than steel. If this will burns within all of us, the village will endure no matter what trials come."
He smiled faintly.
"Now… let us see how my grand-disciples perform."
With that, he sat.
The proctor gave the signal.
Akira inclined his head politely.
"Akira Uchiha," he said. "It's a pleasure to fight you again. I hope you give it your best."
Minato returned the gesture, smiling easily.
"Minato Namikaze. I'm looking forward to learning from you."
The match began.
Both moved instantly.
Smoke bombs detonated almost simultaneously, shrouding the arena in thick gray fog.
From within the smoke, a massive Fireball Jutsu erupted.
Minato dodged cleanly.
Akira was already moving.
He attacked the moment Minato shifted position. Kunai met kunai. A brief, violent scuffle followed. Minato's strikes were sharp, every movement reinforced with subtle wind chakra, each blow cutting just a little deeper.
Minato formed hand seals mid-motion.
A burst of compressed wind tore toward Akira.
Akira snapped his wrist, lacing shuriken with wind chakra of his own. They sliced through the gale and screamed toward Minato, who evaded effortlessly.
Then Akira vanished.
Body Flicker.
Minato responded in kind.
His version was faster.
Akira grimaced inwardly but compensated, layering clones with genjutsu. Real, fake, illusion, afterimage. The battlefield fractured into overlapping realities.
Seeing an opening, Akira dropped two flashbangs.
They detonated.
Minato shielded his eyes instantly.
He figured it out already?!
Akira retreated, increasing distance. Speed like that was dangerous up close.
Minato drew kunai.
Akira's eyes sharpened.
Special…
He dodged, but the instant the kunai embedded into the ground—
Minato teleported.
Akira substituted at the last possible moment and countered with a giant fireball, forcing Minato to disengage.
Observation Gallery
Danzō leaned forward sharply.
"That was teleportation. Hiruzen, did you give him the Flying Thunder God?"
"I did," Hiruzen admitted calmly. "I didn't expect him to grasp it so quickly… or use it here. The pressure from the Uchiha may have accelerated his growth."
"This kind of talent belongs in Root," Danzō said coldly. "Give him to me. I'll turn him into a weapon for Konoha."
"Absolutely not," Hiruzen replied. "Minato is meant for the light."
"You'll regret it."
"Danzō," Hiruzen said evenly, "I am the Hokage."
The argument died there, as it always did.
Back in the Arena
The battle dragged on, both adapting in real time. Counter after counter. Adjustment after adjustment.
Then Minato changed tactics.
He slammed his hand to the ground.
A toad summon appeared, taller than Minato himself.
Water erupted instantly. Columns and high-pressure bullets flooded the arena. Minato layered lightning chakra atop them, turning each stream into a lethal conductor.
Akira struggled to evade.
Then inspiration struck.
A shadow clone formed and grabbed him.
The clone threw Akira forward.
Akira twisted mid-air and drove a Rasengan straight into the toad's face.
BOOM.
The summon vanished in a puff of smoke.
Minato stared, genuinely surprised.
Akira hit the ground—
And triggered a trap.
Steel wires snapped tight around Minato.
Akira sent electricity coursing through them.
The body burst.
A clone.
Before Akira could react, a pebble beside him transformed into Minato.
A kick came flying—
Akira substituted instantly, slapping explosive tags onto the log mid-switch.
BOOM.
Minato flickered away at the last second, singed but alive.
They faced each other again, both breathing hard now.
No crowd noise.
No commentary.
Just two prodigies, locked in motion and thought, each realizing the same terrifying truth.
This fight wasn't about victory anymore.
It was about who would evolve first.
Akira was out of options.
There was only one clean answer left.
The Sharingan.
And he refused to use it.
Not here. Not now.
So he reached for something else.
Something inelegant.
Something disgraceful.
Something effective.
He still had three bombs left.
Not chakra-based.
Not flashy.
Not noble.
As Minato closed in again, faster than before, Akira hurled all three directly at his face.
They burst mid-air.
The first was quicklime. Fine white powder exploded outward, reacting violently with moisture. Minato's exposed skin began to itch and burn almost instantly.
The second was chili powder. It flooded his eyes and lungs, turning every breath into agony.
The third was the worst.
A dung bomb.
The stench hit like a physical blow.
Minato froze.
His concentration shattered. His chakra control unraveled in an instant. His eyes streamed uncontrollably, refusing to open. His throat convulsed as nausea surged upward. The smell was overpowering, primal, impossible to ignore.
He gagged.
And in that moment of absolute disarray, hands seized him.
Akira didn't strike.
He threw.
Minato stumbled backward, disoriented, momentum carrying him past the boundary line.
Jōnin Yūhi's voice cut through the chaos.
"Minato Namikaze is out of bounds."
A beat.
"Winner… Akira Uchiha."
The arena erupted.
Some cheers.
Some stunned silence.
Some outright disbelief.
Akira didn't look up.
He dropped to one knee, then sat down right there on the arena floor. His breathing was ragged. Every muscle ached. His bones felt hollow, like they might crack if he stood too quickly.
That fight had taken everything.
His chakra reserves were nearly dry.
And the realization hit him, sharp and uncomfortable.
Minato, a commoner, had more chakra than he did.
Akira's body was weaker. His constitution poorer. No amount of tricks could fix that overnight. Cleverness could bridge gaps, but only temporarily. Eventually, reality always demanded payment.
He closed his eyes briefly.
Today, disgrace had won over elegance.
Akira pushed himself to his feet anyway.
His legs protested, his chakra coils throbbed, and every sensible instinct told him to sit back down and let the medics fuss over him. Instead, he walked toward Minato, who was still hunched over near the boundary line, eyes red, breathing uneven, pride bruised but unbroken.
Akira stopped in front of him and bowed.
"Minato," he said sincerely, voice steady despite the exhaustion, "I respect you. You pushed me far enough that I had to resort to underhanded tactics to win. Truth be told, that trick was meant for Hiashi Hyūga, not you."
Minato looked up, still blinking rapidly.
"I'd like to be your friend," Akira continued. "If we spar together, we can both improve faster. And as an apology for… all this," he gestured vaguely at the lingering stench in the air, "I'll give you the method for my chakra ball. I call it the Rasengan. It would suit your Body Flicker and teleportation perfectly."
Akira bowed again and extended his hand.
For a moment, Minato stared at it.
Then he smiled. Tired, genuine, unguarded.
He grabbed Akira's hand and pulled himself up.
And immediately vomited.
Right onto Akira.
The arena froze.
Akira stood there, blinking slowly, warm regret soaking into his clothes, the universe delivering a perfectly timed rebuttal to his attempt at dignity.
Minato staggered back, mortified. "I—I'm so sorry! I couldn't help it!"
Akira exhaled. Long. Deep.
"…Fair," he said quietly.
Somewhere in the stands, Jiraiya laughed so hard he nearly fell off his seat.
And despite everything, despite the humiliation, the smell, and the aching bones, Akira found himself smiling.
Because somehow, this was exactly how a real rivalry, and a real friendship, was supposed to begin.