The moment the dismissal bell rang, the classroom full of kids on their very first day of school instantly exploded.
The little brats charged out as if fleeing a disaster, backpacks swinging wildly through the air.
Makoto packed his things unhurriedly, his mind still dwelling on the Third Shinobi World War and the night of clan genocide.
Carrying his bag, he stepped out of the classroom, only to spot Obito bouncing around at the far end of the hallway.
“Makoto!
Over here!
Over here!” Makoto walked up to him.
“Didn’t I say we’d meet at the training ground tonight?” “Yeah!” Obito scratched his head.
“I was just worried you’d forget, so…” “So you’re going to walk back with me?” “Uh…” Makoto didn’t bother engaging further and turned to head toward the clan compound.
Obito hurriedly fell into step, trailing behind him like a little tail.
“Makoto, what you said during class today…
about taking down three opponents single-handedly, is that actually true?” “What do you think?” “I think…” Obito hesitated for a second.
“It’s…
probably…
maybe…
likely…
true?” Makoto shot him a sideways glance.
“Hey, hey, hey!
What’s with that look?” Obito grew flustered.
“It’s not that I don’t believe you!
I just…
I just think, since Aoki’s dad is a Jonin, he must have taught him a ton of Ninjutsu…” “So you think I can’t beat him?” “No, no, no!
I just…” Before Obito could finish, Makoto came to a sudden halt.
At the intersection ahead, three figures were blocking the path.
It was Aoki and his two cronies.
“Yo, isn’t this our great genius?” Aoki had his arms crossed, a mocking sneer plastered across his face.
“You sure run fast after school, don’t you?” Makoto sighed mentally.
He had genuinely forgotten about this.
With his head crammed full of the Third War, the massacre, the system, and getting stronger, who had time to remember a brawl with a little brat?
“Aoki, what do you want?” Obito stepped in front of Makoto, shielding him.
“None of your damn business,” Aoki said, rolling his eyes.
“Get out of the way, Dead-last.” “You!” “Obito.” Makoto reached out and pulled him back.
“Stand behind me.” “But…” “Stand behind me.” Obito opened his mouth, but in the end, he obediently retreated behind Makoto, his fists tightly clenched.
Makoto looked at Aoki’s trio, calculating rapidly in his mind.
One against three?
He couldn’t win right now.
The boost provided by the system was only a quarter of the single-handed victory lie—a mere 25% manifestation.
Facing all three at once would likely end badly for him.
However…
Makoto glanced at Obito behind him.
The harvest target was right here!
If he chickened out today, the “genius” persona he had just set up would instantly collapse.
Obito’s 50% trust level would probably plunge straight to zero.
“What’s wrong?
Scared?” Seeing Makoto remain silent, Aoki grew even more arrogant.
“Weren’t you talking big back at school?
Taking down three single-handedly?
Come on, I’m giving you the chance right now.” Makoto didn’t reply.
His eyes swept across the faces of the three boys.
Aoki looked insufferably smug, while his two cronies were smirking and cracking their knuckles.
“The training ground,” Makoto said suddenly.
“What?” “Aren’t we going to fight?” Makoto pointed toward the clan compound.
“If we fight here and the patrol from the Military Police Force spots us, both of us will get punished.” Aoki froze for a moment, then burst into a sneer.
“Fine by me.
At least you know how to pick a spot.
Let’s go!” He turned to lead the way, his two cronies walking on either side of him.
Makoto stepped forward to follow.
“Makoto…” Obito tugged at his sleeve, lowering his voice.
“Are you really going to fight?
There are three of them…” “I know,” Makoto interrupted him.
“Stand far back later.
Don’t intervene.” “But—” “Don’t intervene,” Makoto repeated, his tone dead serious.
“This is between him and me.” Obito stared at Makoto for a few seconds before slowly letting go of his sleeve, though his eyes were filled with anxiety.
In truth, Makoto’s heart was pounding a bit as well.
Yet there was no alternative; now that the show had reached this point, he couldn’t exactly yell “cut.” The group walked all the way to the Uchiha Clan’s public training ground.
Since it was dinnertime, the training ground was completely deserted.
The setting sun painted the sandy ground in shades of orange and red, casting long shadows from the solitary wooden posts standing in the field.
Aoki walked to the center of the grounds and turned back to face Makoto.
“Right here,” he said, popping his neck.
“Don’t say I’m picking on you.
One-on-one.” Makoto raised an eyebrow.
“Are you sure?” “Cut the crap,” Aoki snorted.
“Taking you down requires three people?
I can’t afford to lose face like that.” Makoto secretly breathed a sigh of relief.
*Good thing this kid cares about saving face.* “Then let’s do this.” Makoto tossed his backpack to Obito.
“Hold this for me.” Obito caught the bag and backed away to the edge of the field, his eyes locked onto the center.
The two cronies also stepped back to the other side, crossing their arms to watch the show.
Aoki dropped into a fighting stance.
It was quite standard and crisp, clearly the product of proper training.
Makoto also assumed his stance.
Though the Taijutsu boost granted by the system fell short of allowing him to “take down three single-handedly,” taking on Aoki one-on-one should be more than enough.
“Ready?” Aoki asked.
“Yeah.” “Then—” Before Aoki could finish his sentence, he suddenly charged forward!
His speed was quite impressive.
However, Makoto was faster.
Just as Aoki covered half the distance, Makoto had already sidestepped to dodge, simultaneously delivering a low kick to Aoki’s shin.
*Thump!* Aoki stumbled hard, nearly falling flat on his face.
Regaining his balance, he turned around and glared at Makoto.
“You!” Makoto gave him no chance to speak, closing in instantly.
Close-quarters combat: punches, elbow strikes, knee strikes.
Every movement was clean and decisive, completely free of useless flourish.
Aoki tried to block, but Makoto’s fists always managed to slip through from tricky angles.
He tried to counterattack, but every time he raised his arms, Makoto’s next strike was already landing.
He was completely suppressed.
“This…
how is this possible…”