In the blink of an eye, the final bell rang, marking the end of the school day.
Usually, the classroom would empty out the exact second school let out, but today, over a third of the students remained in their seats.
They had caught wind of the upcoming duel between Asuma Sarutobi and Hanekawa, so they deliberately stayed behind to spectate.
Quite a few of them were deeply curious about this clash, mostly because it possessed great gossip value.
Asuma Sarutobi was the son of the Hokage and a universally recognized prodigy.
Though he couldn’t quite compare to the freakish standards of Hatake Kakashi, his reputation within the class was immense.
Hanekawa, on the other hand, was a mere transfer student.
Most people’s impression of him was that they had no impression at all.
Ever since he enrolled, he had been completely low-profile—never causing trouble, but never standing out either.
“Kakashi, who do you think is going to win?” Rin Nohara asked curiously, her eyes darting between Asuma and Hanekawa out on the field.
“I don’t know,” Kakashi Hatake replied, shaking his head slightly.
“It’s definitely gonna be Asuma!” Obito Uchiha chimed in loudly.
“He’s the son of the Hokage-sama, after all!” “Not necessarily,” Kakashi murmured.
He could feel that Hanekawa was entirely too composed, looking exactly as though victory was already safely within his grasp.
“Then how about a wager?” Obito’s eyes darted around as he proposed.
“What kind of wager?” Kakashi paused, adding flatly, “If it’s another challenge to a duel, spare me the trouble.” “Hmph, it’s not,” Obito glanced over at Rin, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks.
“Whoever loses has to treat Rin to dinner.” “Wait, why is the prize treating me to dinner?” Rin asked, blinking in confusion.
“Uh, well…” Caught under her direct gaze, Obito’s face flushed a deeper shade of red.
For a moment, his vocabulary completely failed him.
“Sure, I accept,” Kakashi said, looking entirely indifferent.
“Awesome!” Obito’s spirits instantly soared.
Is my dream of a private dinner date with Rin finally within arm’s reach?!
“Honestly, I can never get you two to behave,” Rin let out a helpless chuckle.
She had long since grown accustomed to the relentless friction between her two teammates.
Although it almost always ended with Obito face-planting in defeat, this time might actually be different.
She personally felt that Asuma held a significantly higher probability of winning.
Coming from a civilian background, Rin was acutely aware of the massive structural advantages that shinobi clans possessed from birth.
Out on the training ground, Asuma furrowed his brow slightly.
The thing he despised most in this world was being referred to as ‘the son of the Hokage.’ No matter how legendary that man was, what did it have to do with him?
“Keep this name etched in your mind!
The one who dismantles you today is Asuma Sarutobi!” Asuma declared loudly, locking his eyes onto Hanekawa.
“…” Hanekawa’s lips twitched slightly.
His chronic condition of feeling secondhand embarrassment for others was flaring up again.
What kind of eighth-grade-syndrome declaration is that?
But then again, for a six-year-old kid, it was probably considered peak cool.
The spectating classmates grew increasingly animated, every single eye glued to the center of the field.
“Bring it on!” Asuma raised both hands into a guard stance, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of being the center of attention.
Hanekawa expressionlessly formed the Seal of Confrontation—the mandatory ceremonial gesture required before any formal shinobi sparring match.
Asuma smoothly mirrored the sign.
The moment the ritual was complete, Asuma didn’t waste a single syllable.
Standing firmly in place, he whipped both arms forward to send two shuriken slicing through the air.
One followed closely behind the other at a highly calculated, vicious angle, tracking straight toward Hanekawa’s vital zones.
(It was worth noting that since this was a school yard spar, all the throwing tools were made of blunt training wood.) A sharp whistle cut through the air.
Hanekawa’s counter was instantaneous—an answering pair of shuriken left his hand.
Clang!
Clang!
The projectiles collided mid-air.
Asuma’s two shuriken were violently knocked off course, clattering uselessly onto the dirt.
However, Hanekawa’s answering pair didn’t lose a shred of their forward momentum, relentlessly tracking along their parabolic arc straight toward their target.
“How is that possible?!” Asuma’s mind violently reeeled.
He remembered with absolute clarity that a mere week ago, Hanekawa couldn’t even manage to clip the edge of a wooden target during throwing practice.
Now, the kid could effortlessly shoot down his own mid-air projectiles?
This proved that Hanekawa’s raw accuracy and leverage were already scaling past his own.
What kind of absurd growth curve is that?!
Despite his profound shock, Asuma’s muscle memory didn’t falter.
His fingers blurred as he rapidly spun through hand signs.
Substitution Jutsu!
A dense plume of smoke erupted into the air.
Utilizing the visual cover, Asuma rapidly shifted his weight to dart toward the left.
The two wooden shuriken sliced cleanly into the white haze.
Two distinct thuds echoed out as a wooden log materialized inside the smoke, cleanly absorbing the impact for Asuma.
The fundamental architecture of the Substitution Jutsu was optical illusion; if a shinobi’s execution speed was pushed high enough, it could easily mimic the visual aesthetics of an actual Space-Time Ninjutsu.
“Your projectile work is decent, but this is where your luck runs out, Hanekawa,” Asuma said in a low, heavy voice, casting a brief glance toward Kurenai standing at the edge of the clearing.
His operational blueprint was to secure a swift, overwhelming victory.
He had already wasted too much time; if this match dragged out into a grueling war of attrition, winning wouldn’t even grant him any bragging rights.
A student with two full months of elite training struggling against a one-week novice would be an absolute embarrassment if word got out.
Body Flicker Jutsu!
A sudden surge of chakra coated the soles of Asuma’s sandals, causing his velocity to violently spike.
Leaning his torso heavily forward, he surged toward Hanekawa like an arrow, his right fingers tightly closing around the hilt of a wooden kunai.
The distance between them evaporated in a fraction of a second.
“Move!
Get out of the way, Hanekawa!” Kurenai yelled out, her tiny face pale with immense worry as she watched Hanekawa stand completely frozen on the spot.
“He’s definitely been paralyzed with fear!” Obito said, shaking his head confidently.
“He hasn’t even been introduced to the basic Three Academy Jutsu yet.
The match is already over.” Right at that exact microsecond, Hanekawa’s fingers snapped into a rapid, fluid sequence of hand signs.
Yet, the moment the final sign lock was achieved, absolutely nothing happened.
There was no visible elemental manifestation, looking exactly as though the technique had suffered a terminal casting failure.
Obito opened his mouth to deliver his final verdict, but the words instantly died in his throat, replaced by a look of profound confusion.
Because Asuma had abruptly ground to a complete halt out on the dirt.
“It’s a Genjutsu,” Kakashi’s eyes brightened significantly as he murmured.
“And he’s right—the match truly is already over.” “A Genjutsu?!” Obito blinked, entirely stunned.
The remaining students lacked Kakashi’s advanced combat perception.
They stood looking at one another in utter bewilderment, completely failing to comprehend what had just transpired.
Switching to Asuma’s perspective: He had clearly witnessed Hanekawa cycling through hand signs and had immediately braced his posture for an incoming elemental counter.
But when absolutely nothing materialized, a wide smirk instinctively broke across his face.
Suffering a casting failure was the most common hurdle encountered by raw novices.
It was evident that Hanekawa’s operational mastery was far from adequate.
“You lose!” Asuma roared, closing the final distance to drive his wooden kunai forward.
But in the next microsecond, the strike drove cleanly through empty air.
“What?!” Asuma instinctively whipped his head around, only to find Hanekawa standing quietly directly behind him.
How on earth did he dodge that fast?
A heavy scowl settled across his face.
“You are absolutely never going to evade this next one!” Asuma snapped.
Stowing his kunai back into his pouch, he forcefully clapped his palms together.
Wind Style: Gale Palm!
His chakra instantly compressed into a violent, roaring vortex of wind, slicing across the clearing toward Hanekawa at extreme velocities.
“Impossible!” Asuma’s pupils violently dilated to the size of pinpricks.
Hanekawa had effortlessly stepped wide of the trajectory once more.
Wind Style was universally renowned for its extreme speed and razor-sharp cutting edge; let alone an Academy student, even an ordinary Genin would find it grueling to react to a Gale Palm at point-blank range.
“I don’t believe this!” Asuma gritted his teeth, his fingers violently twisting into the sign sequence again.
Wind Style: Gale Palm!
The howling vortex manifested a second time.
But it yielded the exact same result—empty air.
Asuma subconsciously bit his lip as a sudden, heavy wave of vertigo washed over his brain.
Compulsively executing two advanced Wind Style techniques back-to-back had catastrophically drained his meager chakra reserves.
He stared at Hanekawa, who was standing completely still a short distance away, his mind entirely fractured by the sheer illogic of the situation.
It felt exactly as though…
he was caught in an illusion.
Wait.
An illusion?
A sudden realization struck Asuma like a lightning bolt.
But the moment the truth dawned on him, an ice-cold panic set in—he had absolutely no idea how to execute a Genjutsu Dissipation.
The Academy hadn’t covered it yet!
Even his elite private tutors hadn’t anticipated him encountering a functional Genjutsu user in his very first semester.
For a long, agonizing moment, Asuma stood completely frozen in place, looking thoroughly ridiculous.
Hanekawa calmly walked forward.
The technique he had maintained was the Demonic Illusion: Hell Viewing Technique.
It forced the target to confront the absolute darkest fear lurking within their subconscious.
And right now, Asuma’s most deep-seated horror was suffering a humiliating defeat at his hands.
Genjutsu: Release.
Asuma’s vision violently blinked, the false landscape dissolving into mist.
When his eyes properly focused on reality, the blunt edge of a wooden kunai was already resting gently against the side of his throat.
“Are you alright?” Hanekawa asked, calmly spinning the wooden tool back into his pouch.
“…” Asuma’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth practically ground together.
His chest heaved violently as his face flushed an angry shade of red, looking exactly as though he might faint from sheer indignation.
“Take a deep breath.
A bit of dizziness is perfectly normal,” Hanekawa said, his voice entirely level and clinical.
“You simply exhausted too much chakra on those high-tier techniques.” “You…!” Asuma raised a trembling finger, pointing straight at his face.
The words were framed as genuine medical concern, but for some inexplicable reason, they made Asuma feel like his blood pressure was about to blow the roof off his skull.