Uchiha Nan sized up the monk standing before him.
The man's upper body was bare, his skin bronzed under the sunlight, muscles tightly packed and full of explosive strength. What caught the eye most were his bulging biceps—he was even a full head taller than Nan.
A truly powerfully built man.
"Amitabha."
"This humble monk, Xuankong of the Fire Temple, pays his respects to the Hokage."
Xuankong brought his palms together and bowed politely. His manner was respectful, yet his gaze kept drifting toward Uchiha Nan, unconsciously scrutinizing him.
This… is the Hokage?
Was there some kind of mistake?
Sunken eye sockets, heavy dark circles, slightly unsteady steps—one look and it screamed overindulgence.
This kind of young man was far from rare in the Fire Temple. Xuankong had seen plenty of nobles' sons like this—glorious on the surface, hollowed out by wine and women underneath.
Calling every one of them kidney-deficient might be unfair, but if you lined them up and accused every other one, you'd still catch a few fish.
"Hokage-sama, are you feeling unwell today?"
Xuankong spoke calmly, but the disdain in his eyes wasn't even bothering to hide anymore.
It seemed the First Shinobi World War had truly drained Konoha dry. To think someone like this could become Hokage…
Heaven favors the Fire Temple.
The monks of the Fire Temple were not saints who sought detachment from the world. They wanted power. They wanted funding. They wanted influence.
Not only Konoha could serve the Fire Country.
The Fire Temple could too.
And if Konoha weakened, perhaps the Fire Temple could step into the light.
Uchiha Nan waved his hand dismissively.
"I'm fine. Just a bit tired from last night."
"Didn't you want to spar with me?"
"Then let's begin."
He couldn't be bothered to explain himself.
The arrogance—no, the indifference—made Xuankong's expression darken slightly.
So this Hokage dared to look past him entirely?
On the sidelines, the Fire Daimyō watched with barely concealed delight. He would have loved nothing more than to see the two of them tear into each other.
Shinobi couldn't all be united—conflict was healthy. Balanced power was far safer.
"Since that is the case," the Daimyō said with a false smile, "please keep it friendly. Point to point only. Do not harm the harmony."
Having said that, he quickly retreated from the training ground. As an ordinary man, he had no intention of standing anywhere near danger.
Soon, only Xuankong and Uchiha Nan remained, facing each other.
"Hah!"
Xuankong let out a sharp shout and assumed a strange stance. One hand formed a mudra, the other pressed downward. A powerful chakra surged from within him.
Behind his back, a Bodhisattva phantom gradually manifested.
No hand seals?
Interesting.
So this was the so-called Sen Clan Talent the Fire Temple prided itself on.
Under normal circumstances, Uchiha Nan might have tested the waters, studied this unfamiliar system, and played it safe.
But today?
No.
Nan's eyes flicked briefly toward the Fire Daimyō watching from afar.
This wasn't just a spar.
This was a test.
If Konoha showed weakness now, the funding negotiations in the future wouldn't just get harder—they'd collapse. Worse, the Daimyō might start backing a second military force.
He needed absolute domijince.
Xuankong noticed Nan glance away and felt a surge of anger.
Daring to be distracted in front of him?
"Regret your lack of the Sharingan!"
Xuankong stomped forward, chakra exploding under his feet as he charged like an arrow loosed from a bow. The Bodhisattva phantom behind him transformed into a wrathful guardian, multiple fists smashing down toward Nan.
"…"
Uchiha Nan murmured softly.
The moment Xuankong rushed in, their eyes met.
A crimson pattern bloomed.
Mangekyō Sharingan.
"Tsukuyomi."
Blood leaked from the corner of Nan's eye.
Tsukuyomi World
A blood-red moon hung high in the sky.
The ground was flooded with crimson water.
Xuankong found himself bound tightly to a cross, his mind still struggling to comprehend what had happened.
"This is… a genjutsu?!"
"When did you cast it?!"
He struggled wildly, but the iron restraints didn't budge.
Uchiha Nan stood calmly before him, a blade forming out of thin air in his hand.
"Facing an Uchiha," Nan said lightly,
"and you still dared to make eye contact at point-blank range?"
"Are you ignorant… or just stupid?"
The mocking laughter echoed through the space.
Slash.
The blade pierced Xuankong's arm.
His scream rang out instantly.
Then another strike. And another.
"The flow of time here is mine to control," Nan said gently, almost conversationally.
"One second outside can be a month here. A year. Or more."
"I can stab you again and again until your mind collapses."
"This is my first time using Tsukuyomi on someone. I'm quite curious—how long can a monk of the Fire Temple last?"
Nan smiled.
A warm smile.
To Xuankong, it was the whisper of a demon.
Was this hell?
Was this the Avīci described in the scriptures?
How could such a technique exist in the world?
Fear overwhelmed him completely.
One day passed.
Xuankong's spirit shattered.
His consciousness dissolved into endless darkness.
"Not bad," Uchiha Nan said calmly.
"You lasted a whole day."
With that, the Tsukuyomi dissolved.
Reality
Xuankong's fist was still mid-swing.
Then his eyes rolled back, and his body collapsed to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.
Unconscious.
Uchiha Nan hadn't moved a single step.
He stood there calmly, hands at his sides, exuding the effortless composure of a true master.
The Fire Daimyō stared in disbelief.
What… just happened?
Xuankong wasn't weak. The Daimyō knew that well. Ordinary jōnin were no match for him.
Yet the Hokage hadn't even lifted a hand.
No clash.
No explosion.
No spectacle.
Just… victory.
Cold sweat trickled down the Daimyō's back.
Konoha is still this strong?
So much for the hope that the war had hollowed them out.
The dangerous thoughts he'd harbored vanished instantly.
The Daimyō's expression changed in a heartbeat. He stepped forward, clapping loudly, a radiant smile plastered across his face.
"As expected of the Hokage of Konoha!"
"Truly… truly magnificent."
Uchiha Nan merely smiled back, blood still faintly staining the corner of his eye.
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