Five years.
From the day he learned of Kakashi Hatake's birth, that silver-haired figure had become a mountain Shinichi knew he had to climb. Every step, every plan, had been leading to this moment.
In this battle, his core tactics were ruthlessly simple: forced close-quarters combat, relentless suppression, and absolute denial of space. He would not give Kakashi a single inch to weave a hand sign.
From the opening bell, he had seized the rhythm of the fight. His explosive advance had shattered Kakashi's composure, followed immediately by a storm of overwhelming physical blows.
He had kept his opponent pinned in the mud of a brawl, suffocating any attempt to use Ninjutsu or Genjutsu.
Let alone the nature transformations jutsus, Kakashi couldn't even find a split-second opening to execute a basic Clone Technique or Substitution.
This was not luck. This was not an accident. This was a premeditated assassination of a prodigy's fighting style, targeting specific weaknesses and exploiting them with brutal efficiency.
The sun beat down on the training ground. The shock that had paralyzed the onlookers was gradually thawing, replaced by a complex mix of awe and confusion.
Staring at the calm, black-haired boy standing over the fallen genius, many people were forced to re-evaluate their understanding of the world. For the first time, the name "Shinichi Higashino" was separated from the safe category of "hardworking student" and placed into a new, dangerous tier.
"Shinichi! Shinichi! Shinichi!!"
Takashi Ishizuka was the first to snap out of his stupor. He punched the air, screaming at the top of his lungs. His voice was a spark thrown into a powder keg, instantly igniting the ranks of Class 2.
"We won! Shinichi won!"
"That was incredible!"
"Shinichi! Shinichi!"
A tsunami of cheers erupted from Class 2's camp, a stark contrast to the deathly silence that still gripped Class 1.
While the students of Class 2 flushed with pride and excitement, their counterparts in Class 1 remained in a state of cognitive dissonance. They couldn't process what they had just seen.
"How is this possible? How could that bastard Kakashi lose..." Obito Uchiha muttered, his eyes wide with bewilderment.
The uproar startled the two homeroom teachers. Fumio Matsumoto and the instructor from Class 1, Inoue, exchanged a quick, stunned glance. Inoue took a deep breath, stepped forward, and prepared to fulfill his duty as referee to announce the impossible result.
"Wait a moment, Sensei."
Shinichi's clear voice cut through the noise. He deftly spun the kunai in his hand and tucked it back into his pouch.
He looked down at Kakashi, who was slowly pushing himself up from the dirt. On Shinichi's face, the kind, gentle smile that everyone found so disarming had returned.
"Kakashi... you haven't used your true strength yet, have you?"
He paused, letting the question hang in the air. His tone shifted, carrying a note of guiding certainty.
"I've heard that your father, the White Fang, is a swordsman without equal in the ninja world—a master swordsman who strikes fear into the hearts of nations. As his son, you must have been taught his blade techniques, haven't you?"
As he spoke, Shinichi walked to the weapon rack at the edge of the arena and selected a standard wooden bokken.
A simple victory was not enough.
It was far from enough.
He refused to let this win be dismissed as luck, carelessness, or a fluke of taijutsu. He needed to crush Kakashi in the one area where his reputation was strongest.
Directing the narrative toward Kenjutsu was his next calculated move.
If the father is a legendary swordsman, the son must naturally be a prodigy of the blade. This was the logic of the ninja world, where bloodlines were everything. Although Kakashi had defeated opponents using only Ninjutsu and Taijutsu thus far, the public believed that his "true form" lay in the White Fang's sword style.
Whether or not Kakashi had actually mastered the style was irrelevant. Once public perception was manipulated, perception became truth.
Shinichi wanted to etch a singular fact into the history of the Academy: *Shinichi Higashino defeated Kakashi Hatake at his absolute best.*
"So, Kakashi-kun... would you be so kind as to let me witness the splendor of the White Fang's swordsmanship?"
Shinichi took a deep breath, assuming a standard kendo stance. His expression was grave and respectful.
"Let me experience your full strength."
This challenge was a trap. By invoking the name of the White Fang, Shinichi had effectively handcuffed Kakashi.
Kakashi's pride as a genius, and more importantly, his fierce protectiveness of his father's legacy, would not allow him to refuse. It would be impossible for him to resort to Ninjutsu now; to do so after such a specific challenge would be tantamount to admitting his father's sword was inferior.
Shinichi had successfully baited Kakashi into a contest of pure physical combat and weapon clashes—the exact domain where Shinichi held the advantage.
Shinichi's swordsmanship, learned at a local dojo, was technically inferior to the Hatake clan style. However, in a clash of blades, technique was only half the equation.
The overwhelming power of [Innate Superhuman Strength].
The enhanced coordination of [Swordsmanship Apprentice].
The endless stamina of [Resilient].
The reflex speed of [Agility].
In terms of raw stats, Shinichi was a monster compared to a five-year-old child, genius or not.
On the field, every eye turned to the silver-haired boy.
"Fine."
Kakashi slowly raised his head. The laziness was gone from his eyes, replaced by cold, sharp steel.
He said nothing else. He simply reached into his tool pouch and drew a short tantō—a blade perfectly sized for his reach.
The two boys faced off once again. Round two was about to begin.
"Shinichi! You've got this!"
"Go, Shinichi! Take him down!"
Cheers erupted again from Class 2, though this time they were laced with tense anticipation.
Meanwhile, the silence in Class 1 finally broke.
"Kakashi! Go!"
"Show him the White Fang's power!"
Among the voices, Obito Uchiha—who had been cheering for Shinichi just minutes ago—was now screaming the loudest for his rival, his face flushed red with desperation.
"Damn it, Kakashi! You're supposed to be a genius! Don't screw this up! You have to win!"
In the arena, Kakashi ignored the noise. He adjusted his grip on the tantō, flipping it into a reverse hold—the signature style of the White Fang, favoring speed and unpredictable angles. He leaned forward, his center of gravity dropping low.
The next moment, he vanished.
He became a silver blur skimming across the ground. Using erratic, zigzagging footwork, he closed the distance rapidly, circling Shinichi like a wolf looking for a throat.
Shinichi stood firm in the center of the storm, holding his sword with both hands. His eyes tracked the silver streak calmly.
He knew his technique was crude compared to the Hatake style. He didn't care.
His strategy remained the same: use force to break skill. Use simplicity to crush complexity.