The Cycle of Hatred: A Naruto Insert

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She couldn't hear her thoughts, let alone whatever Kiba was telling her. Suffocating levels of noise came from above and below; it encircled her, yet somehow, Shikamaru had managed to doze off. Ino envied his ability to tune out the world when he wanted to, though the same couldn't be said about other parts of his personality. Though she had to admit he made efforts to do more than just the bare minimum these days—and clued them in on all the aspects of his plans, too.

It was, doubtlessly, a result of the disastrous training that Ino tried her hardest not to think about. 

"...right?" Kiba huffed, arms crossed tight against his chest, and Akamaru balanced perfectly atop his head.

Ino blinked, the chanting from the other side of the stadium having calmed down at last. "Say that again, please? I couldn't hear you over… everything."

"This place is starting to irritate me." He reached for Akamaru, idly stroking the puppy's head. "Akamaru's not having much fun here either."

"Ah." She'd forgotten Kiba had a heightened sense of smell. Her eyes fell on the morose animal's face. "Come here, you." As she comforted Akamaru, Kiba snorted, looking down at the empty arena, only to frown once more. "It's a little too late to enter the tournament."

"I know," he replied. "Still pissed that we didn't enter, though." Shikamaru didn't do so much as twitch between them. "But I can't say that Kurenai-sensei made the wrong choice. I couldn't stand this guy until recently. I don't think we would've made it to the tournament anyway."

Ino smiled. "Oh my god… you're growing up!"

"Shut it!" He clicked his tongue. "Point is, I understand why we were kept out of the exam, but I'd rather be fighting than wasting away up here." When he turned to her, Ino couldn't help but feel a sympathetic pang at the discomfort on his face. "Ino… I've never smelled so much body odour in my life. Do people not know what a bath is?"

"Right…" she trailed off to smother the rising laughter, but it whimpered out of her. Kiba's hearing was too sharp to miss it. He turned to her, affronted, and it doubled out of her.

He huffed against the backdrop of her giggles. "Forget it. What's taking this tournament so long to start, anyway? We've been waiting for ages."

Shikamaru arose with a yawn. "It hasn't started yet?" He sat back. "Okay, who do you guys think'll win?"

Kiba scratched his head. "If I had to go with someone, it'd probably be Neji Hyuuga."

"The guy who was in the year above ours?" Ino asked. "Hinata's… cousin, I think."

"Yeah. Apparently, he was Rookie of the Year for his batch. He's been a genin a year longer than Team 10 and Team 7, so I reckon he might win it all." He looked at Shikamaru. "I'm guessing you're going with Naruto."

"Yep."

"Why?"

Shikamaru shrugged. "He never stops training. Knowing him, he's probably been training for this tournament his entire life."

They looked at her, and all of a sudden, Ino realised it was her turn to answer. She opened her mouth, but the words weren't coming. The answer she wanted to give wasn't difficult, but it was laden with what she wasn't afraid to call the worst memory of her life. The vast majority of her knew that it wasn't Naruto's fault—but the smaller, louder minority writhed with fear and doubt.

Less so these days, but Ino had been thinking of talking to Naruto about everything recently. She didn't like how things concluded between them, but at the same time, her feelings about him and his situation were hazy—undefined at best and coloured by a fading, overwhelming fear.

"I still say we should've entered," Kiba muttered, his voice low but grumbling.

Ino rolled her eyes. "You've said that a hundred times already, Kiba. Let it go."

"I have let it go! I'm just saying—"

"That you're still annoyed," Shikamaru interjected without opening his eyes, his tone as flat as ever. "We get it."

Kiba made a strangled noise of frustration but bit his tongue, clearly working harder than usual to stay civil. Ino stifled a laugh. This was about as harmonious as their team had ever been. Their seats were decent—high enough to give them a good view of the arena but close enough to hear the contestants when things got heated as they waited for a tournament that seemed like it would never arrive.

"I'm just saying," Kiba pressed, "you're lucky we weren't in. I'd have wiped the floor with either of you."

"Sure you would've," Shikamaru drawled. "And then I'd be happy to sit out."

"Don't start," Ino warned, shaking her head despite her smile.

She was about to nudge Kiba with another teasing remark when someone approached their row. The girl was slight and pale, her brow furrowed in hesitation. She adjusted her red-rimmed glasses nervously before speaking.

"E-Excuse me… am I in the right place?"

Kiba blinked at her, caught off guard. "What?"

"Let me see your ticket," Ino said, smiling to ease the girl's obvious nerves. The girl fumbled with a crumpled slip of paper, holding it out with trembling hands.

Ino examined it and nodded. "Yep, right next to mine." She stepped aside to let the girl pass.

"Th-Thank you. I'm Suzumi," the girl said, bowing awkwardly as she squeezed past.

"Ino," she replied with a grin, gesturing to her teammates. "That's Kiba and Akamaru and the one pretending to sleep, Shikamaru."

"I am asleep," Shikamaru murmured without opening his eyes, making Kiba snort. "Now shut it."

Suzumi giggled nervously and sat down. She seemed ready to curl into herself until her eyes flicked toward Ino. "Um… I overheard you talking about Naruto earlier. Do you… know him?"

Kiba perked up at that, his curiosity overriding the irritation at the noises and smells. "You know Naruto?"

"I—uh—well…" Suzumi stammered, visibly flustered. She tugged at the ends of her sleeves, glancing between them like a cornered animal. "We're… friends."

"Friends?" Kiba repeated, narrowing his eyes slightly.

Shikamaru cracked one eye open, studying Suzumi with faint suspicion. Ino leaned forward, her smile softening to make up for her teammates' scrutiny.

"That's cool," Ino said. "How do you know him?"

Suzumi hesitated, her gaze darting to her lap. "I—I met him a while ago. He… helped me out. It's, um, a long story." She looked up, the smallest of smiles breaking past her nerves. "He's… really kind, isn't he?"

Ino blinked at the warmth in Suzumi's tone. A knot tightened in her chest. Kind wasn't an unusual way to describe Naruto, but hearing it from someone else irked her somehow. She hadn't spoken to him much lately—not since… the training incident.

Her self-imposed distance felt necessary at the time, even if she wasn't the one to establish it. But seeing Suzumi light up at the thought of him, her words tumbling over each other in her eagerness, left Ino prickled with just enough envy to be conscious of.

It wasn't just Naruto's attention she missed. It was the easy way he made everyone feel welcome and the warmth he brought into a room. And here she was, keeping herself away from it because she couldn't parse her feelings as a shinobi should.

"Yeah," she finally agreed, forcing her voice into a lighter tone. "He is."

Before the conversation could continue, the announcer's voice boomed over the stadium again, drawing everyone's attention. "Attention, everyone. Due to unforeseen circumstances, a few participants will not be able to compete today. As a result, there will be minor adjustments to the tournament brackets."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Kiba muttered, his irritation returning.

Shikamaru shrugged. "No-shows, probably. It happens."

"Why even bother signing up if you're gonna flake?" Kiba grumbled.

"Because it's bothersome?"

Ino shushed them as the announcer continued, "The tournament will proceed as planned with revised matchups. Now, let's kick things off! The first match of the day: Hinata Hyuuga versus Neji Hyuuga!"

Kiba whistled low, leaning forward in his seat. "Family drama right out of the gate, huh? This should be good. Hinata was always the go-getter kind of fighter."

Ino frowned, glancing at Suzumi, who seemed distant now. Down in the arena, Hinata stepped into the ring, her posture uncertain but her face determined. Across from her, Neji exuded an air of confidence, his gaze fixed and hard.

"Poor Hinata," Ino murmured under her breath. "I'd cave if I had to fight someone like him. He seems… awfully intense."

Kiba scoffed.

Ino didn't respond. Her attention was on the tension radiating between the two Hyuuga, but a small part of her still lingered on Suzumi's words about Naruto until she returned to the match at hand.

If nothing else, it would show her how far they'd have to go to catch up with their peers.

.

— — —

. 

The arena was smaller than it looked from the stands. Neji breathed steadily as he faced Hinata, the faint murmur of the crowd settling into white noise. She stood a little straighter than he'd expected, hands poised in the ready stance of the Gentle Fist.

He almost scoffed at the sight.

Hinata Hyuuga, heiress to the Main Branch, stood across from him as though this fight would prove anything. To her, perhaps, it might. To him, it was nothing but a reminder of what he already knew: of everything she was destined for.

Born into privilege, she was offered the techniques he'd had to steal glimpses of through the compound walls. Hiashi Hyuuga had guided her hands, corrected her form, and nurtured her growth. Neji learned the Eight Trigrams and Revolving by spying through the compound's walls, spitting on rules only the Branch House had to follow.

For the things she gained, he'd needed to put in twice the effort only to gain half the reward.

The proctor raised his hand, and the air grew taut. "Begin!"

Neji moved first, closing the distance with a burst of speed. She didn't see it coming—too wrapped up in devising his chakra flow to expect his natural speed. His palm lashed out, chakra rippling toward her left shoulder.

She deflected with a smooth rotation of her forearm, countering with a strike aimed at his ribcage. He twisted away and retaliated with a calculated series of jabs, each designed to close her tenketsu and limit her chakra flow. She weaved between them, and her stance shifted as she advanced.

They exchanged blows in a blur, the clash of chakra resonating with every deflection and counter. Neji forced her back with the Gentle Fist. Her breathing quickened, and she darted in low, aiming for his abdomen. Neji spun sharply, his counterattack grazing her shoulder.

He saw her chakra falter as he struck, a telltale sign that one of her tenketsu had been closed.

"You're wasting your time," he said. His palm struck her chest, but this time, she caught his wrist in an iron grip.

Her chakra surged as she twisted his arm, and Neji had to wrench himself free before she could take advantage of the opening. The movement took effort; he saw the chakra attaching his arm to hers.

A flicker of irritation broke through his composure, and his next attack came faster. Hinata deflected, and what she couldn't, she absorbed, retreating only to re-centre. Neji felt the difference in their proficiency with every exchange—his control was tighter, and his strikes were sharper.

By every metric, he was better, but she was frustratingly relentless. She switched to her left when he closed her chakra points along her right arm. When he forced her back with a flurry of precise strikes, she surged forward again, ignoring the bruises forming beneath her skin.

She wasn't supposed to be this stubborn.

Hinata's movements shifted again, blending the Gentle Fist with chakra adhesion. She lunged toward him, her palm glowing visibly, and Neji dodged, narrowly avoiding the strike. He shifted his stance, grudgingly clenching open palms into fists that the Main House would disdain.

He was reluctant to use the Strong Fist against her, but the combination of Gentle Fist and chakra adhesion proved too cumbersome to overcome swiftly. If she thought she was the only one proficient in a style besides the Gentle Fist, he'd prove her wrong.

And yet, before he committed to it, Neji's world took a violent lurch. A surge of nausea nearly doubled him over. The world was a slurry of colours and smudges. He could see the foreign chakra asserting dominance over his senses and crushed it, only to see Hinata's fist in his face.

It crashed into his nose, raw and hot, sending him to the ground. Hinata stood over him, her lips curving upwards. "I've wanted to do that since we were kids," she said, stepping back. "It's a touch-based genjutsu called Wavering Palm. I needed six touches to set it up and a seventh to activate it."

Neji stood up and brushed his clothes off. Something wet and warm touched his upper lip, and when he wiped it, his fingertips were stained red. "...Savour it, Lady Hinata, because that's the last attack you'll land."

When he charged, there was no warning—only the rush of wind as his calloused knuckles drove into Hinata's forearm, raised just in time to block. He felt the impact reverberate through her body, forcing her back a step.

Another blow came, this time to her shoulder. Her foot dragged through the dirt to regain her balance.

"Stay down," Neji said.

Her jaw clenched, and she met his charge again. This time, his fist drove into her side. The force of the strike twisted her torso. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the ground with a gasp.

The crowd's murmurs grew louder, but Neji didn't look up. He loomed over her, waiting for the match to end.

But it didn't.

Hinata's hands pressed against the dirt as she pushed herself upright, trembling with the effort. Her lip was split, a trickle of blood racing to her chin. Neji lunged again, his punches landing harder. One against her shoulder, another sank into her abdomen. The next clipped her cheek. Her head snapped to the side, but she stayed standing, swaying under the weight of her bruises.

Her hands rose, steady enough to form the Gentle Fist's ready stance. He growled, stepping in close and driving his knee. She crumpled around the impact and erupted into a coughing fit as she hit the ground again.

She rose. He knocked her down.

Again.

And again.

His fist crashed into her ribs, no longer precise but overwhelming in its brute force. Each blow left its mark—purple bruises blooming on her arms, her hands, her face.

"Why won't you stop?" he demanded, his composure unravelling with each unanswered question. His leg whipped around her thigh, forcing her to the ground.

"…For all your talk of fate, aren't you… fighting it so desperately even now? Besides, w-what can I say? You made it clear in the forest that you don't… care for empty words?" came the pained murmur from below before her mouth clamped shut. 

Her body shuddered as she tried to rise. Her hands slipped against the dirt, breath hitching as her battered muscles protested. He lashed out before he could think, a hook catching her temple. She sprawled to the ground. Her fingers twitched against the dirt, scraping together what little strength she had left.

Halfway up, her arms trembled like leaves in a storm. And still, she looked up at him, determined. Neji's knuckles cracked against her jaw. The sound of the impact echoed through the arena as her body hit the ground.

She didn't rise.

The proctor stepped forward, announcing the match's end, but Neji barely heard him. His chest heaved as he stared at her crumpled form.

"Winner: Neji Hyuuga!"

It was a victory—but not one he could savour. The feeling of triumph he had expected, longed for even, wasn't there. He was surprisingly… empty. If Hinata had had another year of training and experience during missions to grow as he did, Neji wasn't sure he would have won.

He couldn't deny that she forced him into using the Strong Fist. His bloody nose was enough evidence of that. The audience saw it, his team saw it, and as he looked at the VIP box, his vision enhanced through his cursed birthright, he knew that Hiashi Hyuuga saw it, too.

Because, for all your talk of fate, aren't you fighting it so desperately even now?

He couldn't even bring himself to dismiss those words anymore. Wearing a hoodie stained with her blood and his knuckles hardened by training that she lacked access to, Neji watched his cousin leave the arena on a stretcher, numb from head to toe.

.

— — —

.

Choji's stomach turned when the fight stopped being competitive. He couldn't tear his eyes away, even though he wanted to. It felt wrong to watch but worse to look away. He knew Neji Hyuuga's attacks were calculated to cause as much damage as possible without outright killing.

At least, not yet.

They'd all been informed beforehand that while senseless killing was forbidden, the permission to take life granted in the second round wasn't revoked. Choji's fists tightened in his lap. The edges of his nails bit into his palms. So long as Hinata kept getting up, the match wouldn't be called senseless.

He hated the cold detachment in Neji's face, the way he acted as if this wasn't personal. No one hit like that unless they were trying to make a point.

Hinata staggered to her feet again, her breath coming in shuddering gasps. Her hand hovered over her ribs as if touching them might give her the strength to keep going. She wasn't going to win; anyone could see that. But planted her feet firmly on the ground like she'd rather collapse than step back.

Why didn't she stay down?

"She's tough," Asuma muttered from beside him, his voice low and reflective. Choji glanced at his teacher.

"She's going to get herself killed," Choji whispered, his voice bitter. It was quieter than he'd intended, but Asuma caught it.

"She's standing up for something she believes in." Asuma leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.

Naruto frowned. "We both know Hinata doesn't want to die."

"Then why keep going?" Choji asked.

"For things worth risking your life for. We might not know why Hinata feels the need to go this far, but that much is obvious," Asuma said, leaving it at that.

By the time the fight was over, Hinata's blood dotted the ground in uneven splatters, and the medical team carried her away. Choji stared at the empty ring, unease still roiling in his gut. Moments like this and countless others hammered home the difference between himself and everyone else.

The lack of that… something that drove Naruto to train to the point of injury, or pushed Hinata to take a beating… and the willingness to kill at the drop of a hat. He knew he didn't have it—and he hated that too.

When Choji's match came up, he still hadn't shaken the feeling.

"The next match of the first round: Choji Akimichi vs. Kankuro of the Sand!"

The match started, and Kankuro's puppet launched under the retreating proctor, claws gleaming. Choji didn't give it the chance to close in, flying through hand seals. He exhaled sharply, releasing a stream of fire that forced Kankuro to retreat. It wasn't his most powerful Fireball—but it wasn't supposed to be.

The puppet pierced through the smoke. Choji dropped low, using his palms to propel himself sideways. The claws raked past him, just missing his shoulder. Kankuro's laughter rang out from the other side of the arena.

Kankuro's fingers twitched to command the puppet. "What's the matter? Can't keep up?"

Choji didn't answer. His hands flew into a series of seals, and he exhaled sharply, releasing another Fireball. This one wasn't as large as the first, but like the previous one, its purpose wasn't destruction. The puppet jerked back, avoiding the searing heat, giving Choji the opening he needed.

He charged, chakra flowing to his fists as he formed another few seals mid-stride. Visibly glowing chakra outlined his arms before chunks of solid earth solidified. The weight grounded him as he closed the gap. He would've liked to use the earth around them to conserve chakra, but giving Kankuro the momentary option of range was a bad idea.

The puppet surged, but Choji didn't dodge. He met the attack head-on, his stone-guarded fist smashing into the claws with a resounding crack. Shards of broken metal scattered across the arena floor. Kankuro's smirk faltered. Choji pressed the advantage. A second strike, heavier than the first, sent the puppet reeling.

He followed with a sweeping kick, shattering one of its legs.

"You think breaking my puppet will stop me?" Kankuro's fingers danced at his sides.

The puppet twisted unnaturally. Choji caught the blue glow of chakra strings and watched its remaining limbs scuttling like an insect's. He turned with it, keeping his stance low and ready to spring at a moment's notice.

His hands flashed through another set of seals, and a burst of fire erupted from his mouth. It wasn't powerful enough to incinerate, but the heat forced Kankuro to redirect the puppet to avoid further damage.

"Smart," Kankuro muttered, his tone colder now. The puppet's claws retracted, revealing a hidden compartment from which needles shot out in a spray. "But not smart enough."

Choji's eyes widened, and he abandoned the jutsu to throw himself to safety. He rolled hard across the dirt, but it meant that a few needles nicked his sleeve without finding flesh. The puppet was already closing in to pin him down. Chakra flooded his arm, enlarging it and the stone gauntlet alike.

He slammed it into the ground, sending a tremor rippling through the earth. The puppet stumbled, its movements faltering just enough—and that was all he needed. Choji closed the gap while his elbow arced in a punch strong enough that it crushed the puppet completely.

Kankuro growled and armed himself with senbon in one hand and a kunai in the other. Choji charged directly at him, his stone gauntlets crumbling as he leapt. His other fist expanded in mid-air, and he slammed both down in a crushing blow just short of Kankuro's position.

The ground cracked beneath him, and Kankuro stumbled. His footing was thrown off for a brief enough moment to give Choji the advantage. Another punch aimed squarely at Kankuro's chest stopped inches short as he raised his hands in surrender.

"I-I forfeit!" His knees buckled. "...Fucking hell."

The proctor's voice cut through the tense silence. "Winner: Choji Akimichi!"

The crowd erupted in cheers, but Choji didn't bask in it. He turned, chest heaving. His gaze scanned the ruined arena and stopped at the patch of Hinata's darkening blood. His fist ached, his chakra reserves were lower than he wanted to admit, and sweat dripped from his brow.

And for once, it felt like enough, even if he wasn't sure why he was here.

.

— — —

.

The proctor's voice cut through the hum of the crowd, crisp and commanding. "Third match: Tenten versus Sasuke Uchiha. Begin!"

Sasuke eased into his stance, his Sharingan spinning to life as Tenten moved. Her hand went to the enormous scroll strapped across her back, and in one practised motion, she slid it free.

The unfurling scroll rolled open with a rippling sound, sprawling across the arena floor like a declaration of battle. Its intricate seals pulsed faintly, alive with her chakra. Shuriken, kunai, bladed chains—they erupted from the scroll in a storm of steel, only for Tenten to meet them in midair. Despite not being aimed at him specifically, there was precision in every launch, an uncanny rhythm designed to box him in.

He didn't notice it at first, but by the time he did, it was already too late. Tenten's hands blurred as she pulled a smaller scroll from her hip. With a flick of her fingers, the scroll snapped open, its seals flaring briefly before ejecting more weapons with brutal speed.

Blades cut through the air, each one tethered by nearly invisible threads of ninja wire that made them dance unpredictably. It was calculated chaos that she commanded with ease. Sasuke tensed, eyes darting as his Sharingan mapped the incoming barrage.

The sheer variety of her weapons was astounding, even with the Sharingan tracking every movement. Shuriken, kunai, even a set of chain-linked blades whirling toward him from angles he hadn't anticipated, though his Sharingan caught the trajectories and remedied that.

Sasuke ducked low, pivoting on his heel to avoid a spear that hissed past his ear. A kunai aimed at his blind spot clattered against the hilt of his blade as he twisted his wrist in time. His Sharingan traced Tenten's movements as she landed, another weapon already forming in her hands. She wasn't just throwing these with reckless abandon—every attack, along with the weapons caging them together, was placed to limit his options.

Were he to exit the circle, she'd be able to use her weapons without worry. The only option he had was to blast them away, but he was only halfway through the seals for the Great Fireball Jutsu when she charged without an ounce of hesitation.

A pair of curved swords flashed toward him, and Sasuke almost admired the efficiency for a moment. He parried the first blade cleanly, sidestepped the second, and retaliated with a sharp kick aimed at her midsection. She twisted away, using the momentum to disengage, and before he could press the advantage, she was already pulling a weighted staff free.

The Sharingan tracked everything, but it wasn't helping the way it should. She wasn't relying on simple, predictable attacks. Her style was a chaotic blend of weapon mastery, forcing him to shift from dodging to deflecting to evading again in seconds. All while he spent precious time figuring her out. Each weapon demanded a different rhythm, a new approach, and the effort to keep up was irritating.

More irritating was how deliberate it all felt. She wasn't aiming to outsmart but to overwhelm. The staff came sweeping low. Sasuke leapt over it, hands already forming seals in mid-air. The fire came in a broad wave, forcing Tenten back with a burst of heat.

He landed lightly, one hand brushing the ground for balance. She skidded to a stop, planting the staff to steady herself. A singed scroll corner fluttered beside her as she pulled it closer. Her eyes narrowed before another flurry of weapons erupted from the scroll.

Sasuke was prepared this time. He dashed forward, weaving through the projectiles without so much as grazing his shirt. Two steps and he was inside her guard, his fist driving toward her jaw. She blocked with the staff, but the force sent her stumbling back.

He pressed the advantage, though her defence held, the staff moving in fluid arcs to deflect his blows, but cracks were starting to show. For all her precision, she couldn't match his speed for long. The staff dropped low, sweeping at his legs again, but Sasuke anticipated it before the weapon reached his knees.

He threw himself into a flip, twisting mid-air to avoid the follow-up thrust aimed at his back. When he landed, his hands were already forming seals. The fire rushed forward in a focused stream, and this time, she couldn't evade it completely. The blast caught her shoulder, sending her sprawling across the arena floor.

Tenten rolled to her feet, breathing hard. Her scroll trailed behind her like a wounded limb, but her grip on the staff was steady, and her stance hadn't faltered. She'd lost ground, but she wasn't giving up. He could see it in her eyes—she was still thinking three steps ahead, even now.

Sasuke frowned. Her staff came up to intercept him, but he feinted left, drawing her guard just wide enough so that his elbow slammed into her ribs.

The staff clattered to the ground as she staggered, and in the same motion, Sasuke swept her legs out from under her. Tenten hit the ground hard but rolled instinctively, her hand lashing out to grab a discarded weapon—a straight-edged sword that gleamed as she spun it in a defensive arc.

Sasuke was on her again before she could regain her footing, the blade catching his kunai in a sharp clang. She forced him back with a series of slashes, her movements fierce but less precise than before. When she lunged, sword aimed at his midsection, he sidestepped enough that he was clear.

In the same motion, he wrenched the sword out of her grasp and shoved her away. Tenten's eyes widened as Sasuke swept her legs out from under her a second time. She hit the ground hard, the impact leaving her stunned.

Before she could rise again, the cold edge of her blade was at her throat. He didn't press it down—just enough for the message to be clear.

The proctor's voice echoed across the arena. "Winner: Uchiha Sasuke."

Sasuke straightened, stepping back as she pushed herself upright. Her expression was unreadable, but she didn't seem angry. If anything, she looked… thoughtful. Calculating. As if she were already dissecting the fight in her head, figuring out where it had gone wrong.

She'd been strong. Smarter than he'd expected. And for a brief moment, Sasuke wondered what the fight would've looked like if she'd been just a little faster. Or if he hadn't trained as hard as he had in the last month. Her skills were enough to force him to take the fight more seriously than he expected.

He pushed the thought aside as he turned, walking back toward the stands. There were only two more matches left in the second round and, beyond that, much tougher fights ahead.

.

— — —

.

Her fan cut through the air, sending a sharp wave of wind straight at me. I crouched low, my feet digging into the cracked earth, and thrust both hands forward. A powerful gust of wind rushed out to meet her attack. The collision tore through the arena, sending a cloud of dust and debris into the stands.

She smirked. "Think you can beat me at my own game?"

"Yep," I shot back, standing tall.

Temari's smile wavered for a second, but she quickly recovered, sweeping her fan wide. A second, more intense gust of wind rushed toward me, the air howling like a storm.

This time, I didn't block.

I darted to the side, letting her attack tear past me. My feet carried me in a wide arc, closing the distance. I formed a single seal, and chakra surged into my lungs. I spit it out just as her gust reached me. The compressed wave of air ripped through hers like paper.

Temari's eyes narrowed as she jumped back, already swinging her fan again. I followed her retreat, a swirling wind forming in my palm. It grew stronger as I let it loose, sending ripples through the ground. She swung her fan upward to block, hiding behind it. The polished metal caught the blast head-on, and she slid back a full meter before she stopped.

"You're still not getting through this fan," she said, her voice tight with strain.

The confidence only made me grin. "Who said I need to go through it?"

I closed the gap before she could react. My fist lashed out, not at her fan, but at the ground in front of her. The earth cracked under the force of my punch, sending a cloud of debris into the air that swallowed us both.

I heard her cough, a telltale sign of her position. I moved fast, darting through the dust and delivering a sharp kick to her side. She staggered, her fan swinging wildly in an attempt to counter, but I was already behind her, Gale Palm ready.

The burst of wind hit her square in the back, sending her sprawling forward. She hit the ground hard, rolling to a stop near the edge of the arena. Temari groaned, pushing herself up onto her elbows. Dirt streaked her face, and her fan hung limply in her hand.

She still had fight in her, but it was clear I'd worn her down.

"Is that all you've got?" I asked, not fully to taunt her but to see if she'd push on.

She glanced up at me, her eyes blazing with frustration. I thought she might try again, but instead, she slumped back, letting her fan fall to the ground.

The proctor stepped forward, raising his hand. He caught my eye, rolling the senbon in his mouth to the side. "Winner: Naruto Uzumaki!"

The crowd's roar hit me like a wall of sound—more muted compared to the last match—but it barely registered. My eyes stayed on Temari as she glanced back at me, her expression unreadable, then turned and let herself be led away.

Victory felt good, but it wasn't enough. Not with so many questions still hanging over the tournament. I'd barely broken a sweat, and that bothered me. This should have been fun, but the looming worries wouldn't leave me alone.

There was only one person who might have answers, but I couldn't bring myself to face him, not yet. The guilt gnawed at me. Guilt for being too weak to stop Orochimaru from killing him. I'd always thought I wouldn't care if he died, and that had been true... until I came back from my C-rank mission. Then, the idea of him dying weighed on me. Now, with him as my teacher? The guilt was crushing.

I barely made it halfway to the waiting area before a voice stopped me.

"You made that look easy." Sasuke stood off to the side, arms crossed, leaning against the wall.

"Thanks," I said flatly, not breaking my stride. "Your match with Tenten was a good one, too. Though Shino's fighting Gaara to end the second round soon, I think."

"Who do you think will win?" he asked.

"It'll be tough for Shino to win. Both ranged types and Gaara outclasses him there too." I noted his slight frown with a smile. "Does that bother you?"

Sasuke pushed off the wall, matching my pace. "It doesn't bother me. Just thinking ahead."

"You mean how you'll deal with Gaara if you're up against him?"

His silence was answer enough, and I could see the gears turning in his head.

"You've got a plan already, don't you?" I pressed, curious. "Is it a new jutsu?"

"It's none of your business, is what it is," he said, his tone clipped. "My Sharingan will be enough."

I snorted. "That's no plan—your eyes weren't enough to give you an edge over Tenten right away."

Sasuke shot me a sidelong glance, but I caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. "She was stronger than I thought, but I still won."

"Confidence is good. Gaara's not going to be so easy to figure out, you know. Good luck," I said finally, stopping at the edge of the waiting area. He glanced at me, surprised by the sincerity in my tone. "If it's Gaara, you'll need it."

Sasuke shook his head with a low scoff. "I'll see you in the finals, then. Don't screw this up. I want to face you at your best and win the tournament. I won't accept anything less."

I stopped and turned, meeting his gaze. He looked calm, almost smug, but I knew better. Sasuke didn't do calm—not without a reason.

"You're fighting Choji next round," I said. "Don't be so quick to overlook him, or you'll regret it."

His smirk twitched for a second, but that was enough for me. Not that I was here to bat for Choji, but I knew Sasuke wouldn't take him lightly.

I kept moving, my thoughts already racing ahead. It wasn't that I didn't believe in Choji—I did. But knowing Sasuke, he'd throw everything he had into that fight.

And then there was everything else bugging me. My footsteps quickened as I moved toward the VIP area, turning over the idea of talking to Lord Third. But before I could settle on anything, he met me halfway.

"I was just coming to look for you, Naruto," he said, smiling. He wore his usual red-and-white robes, the Hokage hat perched on his head. His eyes crinkled as he smiled at me.

I opened my mouth to thank him, but the words stuck. He saw it, too.

"Something's bothering you," he said gently.

"It's about the two missing participants," I said, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "I ran into Haku two days before the tournament and let her go. I didn't know at all, and now Zabuza's got Fuu."

I wasn't guilty over that per se; Haku and Zabuza were responsible for all this, not me. But in the short time I'd spent with her, I'd gotten to know Fuu. The idea of her being used as a pawn in Zabuza's revenge didn't sit well with me—even though there wasn't a thing I could do about it.

Lord Third sighed. "I promise you this: once the tournament is over, I'll make sure Zabuza won't be allowed to continue unchecked."

His words sat heavy in my chest. He hadn't even stopped to consider if he'd be alive after these exams. Despite all my efforts to divert his fate, Jiraiya still wasn't here—making Lord Third's death more likely by the hour.

"What about Orochimaru?" I asked, not even having to fake the worry in my voice. "He's still out there. He offered to bring my parents back. What kind of jutsu could do that? What if he's planning something worse than anything we could imagine? What if—"

Hiruzen raised a hand, stopping me mid-thought. "Naruto, I summoned Jiraiya, and he's undoubtedly on his way. Focus on your next match and allow me to worry about Orochimaru."

A bitter taste filled my mouth. "That means you're the only one who can fight him."

Lord Third didn't need to reply—I knew what his answer would be. Before he could, the roar of the crowd caught my attention. It was followed by the unmistakable sound of an explosion and the swell of cheers.

Lord Third smiled, hands clasped behind his back. "Go on now. You won't want to miss the first match of the second round. And Naruto," his eyes hardened, "fret not and fight to your fullest. There are measures in place for times like this, especially in light of what you've revealed about Orochimaru. The Leaf is not nearly as weak as you think."

I grudgingly turned away. Outside, the crowd was on its feet, roaring as the dust cleared from the centre of the arena. A pair of deep craters nestled two strange objects, each on opposite sides of the arena. Two figures faced off, chakra flaring like fire around one of them.